


Total

by Lastavica



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Archery, Autumn, Avengers Family, Avengers Feels, Avengers Tower, Awesome Natasha Romanov, Babies, Bees & Beekeeping, Big Brothers, Brothers, Canon Divergence - Post-Avengers (2012), Chickens, Childhood, Childhood Memories, Children, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Clint Barton Feels, Clint Barton's Farm, Clint Barton-centric, Clint Feels, Clintasha - Freeform, Communication, Cute Kids, Diapers, Dogs, Domestic Avengers, F/M, Family, Family Feels, Fatherhood, Fear, Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Forests, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gardens & Gardening, Happy, Happy Ending, Hope, I love writing this stuff, Insecurity, Joyful, Kindness, Little Brothers, Love, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Married Life, Memories, Miscarriage, Motherhood, Names, Natasha Feels, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Natasha-centric, Nature, New Parents, New York, New York City, One Shot, One Shot Collection, POV Clint Barton, POV Natasha Romanov, Parent-Child Relationship, Parenthood, Partnership, Peace, Pennsylvania, Personal Growth, Pets, Pregnancy, Pregnant Natasha Romanov, Profound happiness, Quiet, Red Room, Romance, S'mores, SHIELD, Simple moments, Snow, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Sparring, Spring, Squee, Stars, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Strike Team Delta, Summer, Sweet, Teaching, Team, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Trees, Trust, Uncle-Nephew Relationship, Walks In The Woods, Winter, family life, life - Freeform, porch sitting, quiet talks, sustainability
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-27
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2017-12-03 19:17:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 34,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/701743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lastavica/pseuds/Lastavica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They love each other. It's that simple.   </p><p>A collage of the quiet, simple and angsty moments of Clint and Nat's post SHIELD/Avengers life.  (Timeline Chronology is continuously clarified after chapter 5. But feel free to read from anywhere.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Total

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapter can definitely be read as a self contained one shot. That's what it was originally. This has since turned into a series moments in a shared life.
> 
> Each chapter fits on a solid timeline but is not necessarily in order. Chronology is continually clarified. It's collage of one shots, so you can look where you choose to. Although, the first 5 chapters really set up the life they're living.
> 
> Every other chapter is just a moment in this very peaceful life of Clint and Natasha's. This will be boring for some, but it's a very happy thing for me.

"So are we gonna do this?" He asked. His knotted, calloused fingers drummed into the palm of his right hand.

"I dont know."

He would not press her if he knew that she didn't want him to. But her tone told him to convince her.

"Why not?" Clint looked over at her. She looked away.

"Our lives-"

"Haven't changed, aren't gonna change."

She didn't respond so Clint knew he still had the floor. She would hear him out.

"Let's do it. Let's just do it." He said emphatically. "Let's get married. Let's have kids. They won't be abandoned if something happens to us. There's like a surplus of people to back us up now, Nat."

"But what if you go out first and I'm left with those kids, Clint?" Her eye contact demanded a considered response.

He paused and looked hard in her eyes. "Tasha, I'm afraid of that too. But we'll let that fear stop us from living as fully as we can right now? It should be the opposite. We should charge into all of it. Even if kids lose their parents, we've got family now and they'll be ok. But we'll fight harder than we ever have to not lose each other, to not let them lose us."

She looked down toward the city.

"Tasha." He said softly and took her hand. He spoke to her as her fierce gaze took in the world below. "I don't want to die some day, or tomorrow, and know that we lived it all for the job." Clint lifted her hand and kissed it softly. "I want to be all yours." He said. "I want you to be all mine. ...Please, Nat."

This made her turn to him, her green eyes gently burning.

"The job isn't our life. We can have a life. Let the job pummel it and try to take it away, but I don't want to be flat on my back in some shit hole some day and know that you and me were never really you and me."

She sensed the strength of this conviction. He gripped her hand as he spoke these last words.

"Do you?"

Nastasha looked back out toward the city. A light breeze pushed a red lock of hair across her forehead. Clint's stormy eyes desperately searched her face, but he waited. It was her choice.

"Clint" she finally spoke. "You know I don't want that."

He relaxed a bit. She was saying yes.

"I trust you" She said. "With my life."

"Will you give it to me? Because mine is yours."

She could not hold back a laugh. It was a truly happy laugh. She was not scorning his words. Natasha shook her head and smiled. His hand that was wrapped around hers, she took and pressed against her heart.

"Yes, Barton. Of course I will. Forever."

It was Clint's turn to laugh. A deeply felt, happy, laugh. He pulled his hand away and wrapped Natasha in his arms. Clint breathed into her hair. "I'm so happy."

Natasha could hear the tears in his voice. The shocking thing was that it wasn't a surprise. She knew how much he loved her because she loved him the same.


	2. Waiting

Clint's hand rests on my stomach.

He loves to wait for the feel of a small impact on his palm and finger tips.

So soon. Any day now the baby will come. Any day now we'll know our hidden child.

Lots of people walk, watch tv, do something when they just want to be together, but Clint and I just like to sit. There's enough in every other moment. Tonight it's the porch. This property in the woods is our home. Although we enjoyed living at Stark Tower, it's in both our natures to have some distance, and soon we'll be three. I won't let that happen in the city. Besides, with this new little life inside me, I feel a deep desire to put all the "avenging" behind me. I just want to live. It would be the first time in my life. That's all I want to do. And I want to do that with Clint, as a family.

Clint bought this place shortly after he realized he loved me. I had no idea at the time... about either development in his life. His savings was very large, having spent next to nothing since he began at SHIELD. He was lonely when he started with them. Working for SHIELD was all he had. When the thought breached his man brain, that he might someday settle and desire to protect what he loves, he bought this land and did nothing with it for a long time. (The time it took for me to love him back, admit it to myself, admit it to him, and then actually let him marry me. So it was a good long time) The house wasn't here then. After Clint and I married, Stark had it built for us. I felt I had no choice but to constantly keep tabs on Tony to prevent it from turning into some kind of gaudy palace. My style and Clint's can only be described as the opposite of Tony Stark's. It's a beautiful dark wooden home. Big, but not huge with a wrap around porch. Flower boxes, shutters. I love it. It's everything my life never got to be; warm. Now Clint and I will have it together. Our own lives are over. This is a new one. Just one, and it's ours.

So, we're silent and the only sounds are the gentle breeze in the forest, and the night singing of crickets. Clint calls them his friends and he does it only because I think it's stupid.

I can see his eyes smiling, though his face doesn't shift at all. The baby is kicking his hand again. I won't pretend that the heart I never thought I had tightens when his eyes smile. I really love him.

"I don't care what it is." He says softly, as if only to himself.

"I know." I say. In my heart a daughter feels like the best thing imaginable, but I know I'll be in love either way. Clint knows that.

I move both my hands to cover his. This is perfect.

"I still can't believe it." He's smiling outright now.

Neither can I, and it still scares the hell out of me. I still feel like I'm all blackness inside and the fact that life could grow there is something that still surprises me. Clint knows I feel that way. He hates it so much. I made the mistake in one of my darker moments of voicing that belief. But I had promised him he'd always know me, so I told him. That moment was the first time he'd seen my cry since I've known him. There have been many times he's seen me die inside, but never cry.

It was his fault anyway. He called me the light in his life, and he meant it.

...I blame the hormones.


	3. Wind

We wanted our child to be free in a way neither of us ever knew. We wanted it for them as deep as their very identity. So we named him accordingly. Yes, it turned out we had a boy and, as expected, I'm in love.

His name is Wind. At first I laughed when Clint suggested it. The name itself sounded beautiful and strong, but it just seemed silly. I honestly thought he was joking. He'd expected that response and was ready with an explanation. It was one of those moments where he revealed himself in a new and passionate way. I love his soul. It's so different from my own.

"I'm serious." He'd said with an emphasis that always makes me forget that life has ever tore his innocence away.

"Everything we never had. Right in her name... or his. It's free. You can't hold it. You can't hurt it. It's strong and it's gentle. It fierce and it's peaceful." Then he suddenly became embarrassed by his words, which was somewhat of a shock.

"Barton, you're a romantic." I heard my usual dry self say, but inside I felt a swell. It was perfect.

"Ah, you love it." He said, picking up his confidence right where he'd left it. Clint is well acquainted with my hidden responses.

I nodded. He'd completely sold me on the name. A whole life behind him entrenched in pain and darkness, and his mind still works like that. It's this attribute of Clint's that made him spare my life so many years ago. And now look where we are. I think I'll stick with him.

"Middle name?" He asked me a moment later.

I remember thinking for a few minutes and then saying "No middle name."

He cocked his head in question.

"Keep the wind unconfined." I said.

A smile broke out on his face. "I like it."

I was the first to say it out loud. "Wind Barton."

Clint followed suit. "Wind." Then he nodded his head in further approval. "So badass."

I laughed. I couldn't help it.

Since his arrival, Wind has gone through the evolution of nicknames, or rather the devolution. Wind quickly became Windy. And soon after, Windy was simply "D". Clint started saying it, then I did, and then it stuck. Outside of russian terms of endearment, I mostly call him Wind or D, but in between those is a constant stream of random derivatives that come out of Clint's weird mind. "Smoke Stack" being the first and most nonsensical of all. Then there's Windiggity, Whirlwind, Wind Surf, or just Surf. He's called our son "Breezey Baby Boy". I thank God that only happened once. Of course there is D-Bart, Baby Barton, D-D McGee (?), and the list goes on.

Yeah. Clint's crazy.


	4. Trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wind is 3-4 months old.

"D-Dog, look at this."

The baby's soft hands brushed against the rough tree bark, his fingers opening and closing. They were still not so capable of directing and grabbing. Clint took the tiny hand under his palm, gently pressing it to the tree. His fingers splayed out with the baby's hand underneath.

"Feel that?" Clint asked, his nose touched Wind's chubby cheek as he spoke. His other arm wrapped around the son's chest and under his arms. "That's a tree." He said.

Clint looked up for a moment, squinting as he examined the impressive trunk. "Yeah." He then said. "I'll show you how to climb this sucker."

Wind simply opened his mouth and tested his own voice some more. This was his newest trick. It sounded like gentle singing and Clint thought it was the greatest sound he'd ever heard.

Clint turned to look back toward the house. There she was. Natasha sat crossed legged in a large chair up on the porch. The gentle breeze pushed the hair around her forehead as her focus remained on the pages of the book in her lap. Clint smiled and returned his attention to the baby.  
/// /// /// /// /// ///

As soon as Clint looked away, Natasha lifted her head again. If he knew she was watching him, he would act accordingly. She just wanted to observe him in his natural state.

He was over by the tree line, his bare feet tramping through the grass and twigs, carrying the baby here and there. From where she sat, and because of the light breeze in the trees, Natasha could only hear the tones of Clint's voice, but could not make out his words. He kept talking. Natasha was grateful for Clint's verbosity because she had less need for words. Their son received two halves and got a whole.

She watched from afar as Clint bent forward toward the ground, holding the baby over the grass and letting Wind's hands and feet swing back and forth in the swaying green blades. All the while Clint's lips brushed across the irresistible dome of reddish fuzz atop Wind's round little head. The distinct sound of baby laughter reached Natasha's ears and she smiled to herself. Her son's laugh was the greatest sound she had ever heard.

Clint stood up and, as she was still reveling in that sweet sound, looked toward her again. Their eyes met. The corners of her mouth quirked up into another of her usual small smiles. While his eyes smiled at her the way she loved so much, he held the baby up beside his face. The baby had a look of total indifference, if not mild concern. His pudgy cheek squished against Clint's stubble and his grayish blue eyes squinted because of the sun which made him sneeze. The sight of the two of them caused Natasha to laugh. She couldn't believe those two belonged to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration for this one came from a song called "A Father's First Spring" by The Avett Brothers. Not really the lyrics, just the idea of nature's rhythms evoking memory and emotion and all the fatherhood feels... I wanted to paint a picture. ...What did you think?


	5. Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wind is nearly 1 year old.

"D, you're ok." Natasha said. Wind was sprawled out in the grass where he'd fallen. Chasing chickens proved difficult for the toddler. His face seemed torn between crying and determination. Natasha was keeping an eye on the exploring child as she sat on the front steps. She was simply enjoying the sky, the trees, birds, her son. Taking in the abundance of life and the peace all around her had become her greatest pleasure. Clint was inside the house preparing dinner.

"Get up, little one. You're ok." She assured him again in her steady tone. Her eyes were soft like they always were for the ones she loved. Both of them. The little boy pushed his hands into the grass and got to his feet. His bottom was in the air first, then he pushed the rest of himself into standing position. Looking to his mother for validation, he earned a smile from her. "Well done." She said. Wind clapped his hands and said something indecipherable. (He was proving talkative like his dad. Although, they couldn't understand anything he was saying yet.) He looked again towards the chickens who, with their pursuer waylaid, had stopped to peck in the grass. Forgetting his defeat from a moment earlier, he gave a laugh and unsteadily ran after them again. Disapproving clucks sounded as they reluctantly retreated once again.

Not long after Wind was born Natasha had decided she was done.

She wanted no more violence, no more death. Never again did she want to choose to destroy anything. When Wind rested in her arms for the first time, and those greyish blue eyes searched aimlessly for the sound of her low and gentle voice, she'd made up her mind. Any desire for the life she'd known immediately drowned in the ocean of love that surged for her child. She would bring up this baby, build up his life, hers and Clint's. She wanted to be done with The Avengers, with SHIELD.

Natasha had herself erased from all SHIELD databases, files, reports, everything. Fury was reluctant at first. She put Tony on the case to make sure Fury followed through on her request. The director hadn't really believed that she could give it all up. He was convinced she'd be back. It took her showing up at SHIELD. It took seeing the look in her eyes for himself. The ferocity with which she remained loyal to her life with SHIELD, with the Avengers, had been permanently redirected, renewed and deepened with love toward her family. Clint and Natasha surviving in the midst of madness of was over. They were a family now and survival was over. It was time to live.

Clint remained on SHIELD file. He would consider training for them and would continue from time to time to, as he put it, "cowboy around" with the Avengers. Nothing serious, though. Other than that, he followed Natasha where she led their family. He wanted what she wanted. And Natasha meant when she'd said. No more baggage. No more killing. No more SHIELD. The Black Widow was gone. Natasha wanted to live.

"You're sure?" Clint had asked her, looking down at the baby asleep against his chest.

"I have never felt so certain of anything." She too was gazing at their son as she spoke. They were sitting across from one another at the kitchen table in the quiet of the night. There were so many things he could have reminded her of, could've questioned, but he knew Natasha and he knew her voice. She meant what she was saying. Meant it deeper and truer than anything she had ever said to him.

With the birth of hers son, she no longer wanted action. She wasn't sure she had ever wanted it. It had had just always been something necessary in her life. It was what she did. As her heart burst forth she realized the life she'd led up until then wasn't what she had necessarily wanted. Now that it was possible, she wanted to nurture and grow things. She began a vegetable garden, a bee hive and kept chickens. A whole new aspect of self sufficiency, grounded in building up and not in tearing down. Natasha wanted life. She wanted it teeming around her, from her, and for her. That is what she got. Natasha never knew this desire was inside her until her body became a home for the result of her and Clint's love. Then that life was placed in her arms and everything changed. Life. That's what she had to give. She was so happy. Happy, and truly unafraid of herself for the first time ever. It wasn't darkness that could come from her, but love.

For so long Clint had tried to show Natasha the light he could see in her. He'd tried to show her what she meant to him, what she did for him. The darkness he carried, she lit up. He'd always known she wasn't just darkness as she'd believed. The night the baby was born and lay asleep in a bassinet, the two of them sat in bed totally silent. That was until Clint began quietly weeping. He pulled her into his arms and just cried. Natasha could hear the joy, and the pain dispelling. He was so happy, for himself and for her. Clint knew that with their Wind's birth Natasha could see that something good could come from her. It was now real and undeniable.

Natasha chose this life and loved it. No longer would she be tied to a life that was assigned to her as so young an age.

"He's never gonna catch those chickens." Clint's voice came from behind her.

"No." She said. "But the joy is in running after them."

Clint nodded although she couldn't see him behind her.

"Wind." Clint called. The baby stumbled as he tried to stop and then turned to his father's voice.

"Deedee!" He exclaimed.

"Hi!" Clint beamed. "Come have dinner with me and mommy."

Wind shook his head vigorously and turned back to the chickens.

"Uh oh." Clint deadpanned. Then he leapt from the porch into the grass. "Now I have to get you!" Wind turned instantly at his father's exclamation. He squealed, forgetting all about the chickens, and made an unsteady b-line for the woods. Clint caught him in seconds, lifting him up to his face. Wind's shirt flew up and Clint blew the loudest zerberts into his sons round belly. Wind shrieked with laughter until Natasha had to remind her husband to let the child breathe.

"Right." Clint said, unrolling his son from his arms and putting him down in the grass. Wind immediately ran to Natasha, laughing all the way, not entirely sure that Clint wasn't still following.

Natasha lifted him into her arms and stood up. "Double teamed." She said to Clint with a smirk. "...He'll catch on."

"I'm sure he will." Clint said as he followed them up the steps and into the house.


	6. Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wind is a new born.

The first time she couldn't soothe him was the first time she doubted again.

The baby was finally sleeping and Clint quietly pushed the screen door open. Natasha sat at the top of the porch steps, her back to the door. Her red hair gleaming in the soft moonlight. Clint stood behind her for a moment, just breathing in the cool night air. It was 3am.

"It happens." He said softly, still looking out into the darkness. "Babies cry and you can't make it better."

"What am I doing?" She asked suddenly. "I'm kidding myself thinking I can ever be a mom, ever take care of a child, when I've never been one myself and never done anything but destroy!"

"Am I kidding myself for being with you?" He said without even thinking.

"What?"

Clint came and sat one step down from her, turning to face her. "Love." He said. "Love, Natasha. Lonely all my life! Joking it off. Barton doesn't care. But I did f**king care, Nat! And then you came along. No, I didn't want to marry you back then, but it didn't take me long to care about you. And you loved me like my brother never could."

He shook his head, trying to straighten his thoughts.

"Despite everything about you! Despite all the sh*t they put your through, you let yourself trust me. You let us have this!" He vigorously gestured from her to him and back again. "Natasha, I got beaten. I was a runaway. I was left in the dust by the only person who ever cared about me. Yet, here I am! And you can say the same. You can say worse!"

Clint blew out a sigh. Natasha's eyes were intently focused on him. Every word she was taking in.

"I'm tryin' to say that it's bullsh*t." He raked his fingers through his short hair. "Who cares if you didn't have a childhood. Who cares if mine was a wreck! We don't need a blue print for him!" Clint said, throwing his thumb over his shoulder, indicating to Wind who was asleep in the house. "You know what the worst is. You know better than anyone. So you fight harder than anyone for the opposite, Nat. You've got this. ...If anybody's f**ked up here it's me. The people who hurt you never loved you. Not in my case." He suddenly became quieter. She could see his fists flexing. "Our 'dad' who took us in... yeah. 'Loved us'. Beat the shit out of us. And Barney... I'll always watch out for my little brother. I love you, man."

The venom in that last sentence was palpable, but Natasha didn't touch him. She let his thoughts flow freely. Clint looked down and closed his eyes. Thoughts of Barney still stabbed him.

He looked back up at Natasha. "Don't you see? ...You never had love, but I got taught it was something it isn't." Suddenly there were tears tracing down his cheeks. Natasha moved her hand to his face.

"Clint." She finally spoke. "You're not f**ked up. You fought against what they showed you. Clint, you didn't kill me. ...Look at me."

Slowly his eyes lifted to meet hers. "You let me live. Why? ...If you thought love is betrayal and violence, then what was that? Hate?"

He was silent.

"You saw me, Clint. And I saw you."

She was right. He let those words echo in his mind. Their first encounter defied everything they knew. He saw goodness where he was told was only darkness. She stayed when she had every reason to run. Yet, somehow, and for some reason, each of them cut through their own common sense and reached out to the other.

"Wind we'll see us the way we see each other. Not how we see ourselves." Clint's eyes were suddenly smiling. Barely, but she could see it.

Nastasha nodded. "Like you said, we know the worst, but he won't."

Clint leaned down and rested his head atop her knees, taking in the comfort of her presence. Her fingers wove into his short brown hair. He breathed deeply. With her, he remained safe from the lies.

"Thank you." Natasha said.

"Don't thank me." He said, not moving from where he rested against her. "You already knew."


	7. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wind is 5-6 months old.

Natasha's eyes opened to a sound. Then she felt the sheets taut and pulling away from her. It was Clint. Quickly she sat up to find him laying on his back with the sheets balled tightly in his fists. Sweat beaded on his brow as he visibly struggled with a nightmare. She moved immediately to take away the look on his face.

"Clint." Natasha said gently. She placed her hand on his cheek. "Wake up."

His eyes snapped open and his hand shot to her wrist, wrapping tightly around it. She didn't pull away, but let him find her. As soon as his terrified eyes reached hers, his grip relaxed and he let go. Clint looked spent as he hauled himself into sitting position, trying to breathe through bit lips. His eyes squeezed shut as he shook his head, trying to expel the images.

"It's over." She told him. "It's over."

Unexpectedly he cried out as if in pain.

"No, it isn't!" He hung his head, holding it with his hands. His fingers wove into his short brown hair. Clint tried to take deep breaths but all of the sudden they were choked up with sobs. No tears came, just ugly, painful sobs.

Natasha was a bit surprised, not having seen Clint this upset in years.

"Barton, talk to me." She said gently, pulling him into her arms. He accepted her embrace, wrapping his own arms around her.

"He came back, Tasha."

Natasha knew who he was and it made her angry. She thought that was over for Clint.

"It was Wind! Loki made me- " Clint couldn't finish that sentence. He couldn't say it. Instead she felt his weight drop back toward the bed, completely destroyed by the image in his mind. Natasha held onto him and moved to lay back down. She kept him wrapped in her arms as he hid his face just under her chin, his hands and arms curled up to his chest. Hiding against her, that's when the tears came.

Perhaps Clint would feel stupid tomorrow. Maybe he would feel weak and say that he wasn't strong enough to stand up against a dream that hadn't even been real. But Natasha knew the truth and she wouldn't keep it to herself. He was more than strong. Clint was a man in love and fiercely held his family against his heart. The pain he felt and the pain that caused tears to spring from his eyes came from his efforts to hold them closer still when threatened. Even if the threat were only a mirage. There was no need for him to prove his strength. She'd learned long ago, after all her dark times and confusion that came with giving up her old life and joining SHIELD, just what kind of strength Clint possessed. What it took to bring her in. That's all she ever needed to know.

On the other hand he might relapse. "I am still the monster Loki made me." He might say. "It never went away. It's still down there somewhere inside me. My dream proves it." In her mind, the answer for that was easier. Clint tears proved his horror. His horror proved his humanity.

Or perhaps he wouldn't say anything and the pain would just linger. Easier still, she would hold his hand through the pain until it passed.

The next day came and along with it the sun, the sky, and the memory of his dream.

Clint was a brightness in their home. He laughed a lot, talked a lot and could never leave Wind alone. But this morning Clint was up and out while it was still dark. She heard him leave, but didn't bother him. After last night, she knew he needed some space.

He went walking in the woods, taking the dogs with him. Natasha was making coffee in the kitchen when out the window she saw him emerge from the tree line. Arrow (Yes, Clint was very proud the the dog's shameless name), the big Irish wolf hound loped across the grass ahead of him. At Clint's side, nose to the ground so that his droopy skin and flappy ears fell over his face, trotted their young blood hound who Clint called Mars. Natasha enjoyed the dogs, but not as much as Clint and Wind did. It was Clint's idea to get them and Natasha was happy to leave naming them up to him. She also did not allow them inside the house, a decision Clint accepted.

Up he strode to the house in black cargos and a black jacket. Over his shoulder was slung his oldest bow. It was simply an old friend and he liked to keep it close. He looked like the agent he no longer was.

Arriving at the house Clint, placed his bow on the railing and sat down on the porch steps. Mars plopped down at his feet, snorting rhythmically. Arrow sat at his knee ready to receive a nice head scratching.

Natasha quietly pushed open the screen door. Her bare feet stepped silently across the wooden floor. Wind was still sleeping.

She came down the steps and sat beside her husband. She wore a grey sweater, black pants. The morning chill held no sway over her small russian feet. Delicate they may have looked. Delicate they were not. As she handed Clint a cup of coffee, Mars' sad eyes lifted to greet her and his tail swished happily back and forth in grass. He did not, however, bother to get up.

"Hi dog." She said evenly and leaned down to give him a single pat on his wrinkled head. Natasha did not like Mars half as much as he liked her.

For a moment she and Clnt sipped their coffees together in silence, listening to the morning birds. The woodpeckers were especially active this morning. That was a favorite sound of Natasha's.

Clint's left hand continued stroking Arrow's scraggily head as he held his mug in his right.

"I killed Wind." He voiced quietly, not looking at her. She detected a tightening in his jaw as he said this.

"In your dream." She clarified.

"It was so real." He said, eyes in his mug.

"It wasn't."

He looked out at the trees for a moment and then sighed. "I know."

They sat for some time, not saying anything else. He knew the answers she would give to his fears and he knew she was right. There was nothing but the comfort in her silence and the truth. It had been a dream. His decisions were still his to make.

Natasha's mug was nearing empty when she gently knocked her knee against his.

"Hear that?" She asked.

Clind listened, then nodded. He could hear the faint sound of Wind crying up in his crib, demanding immediate removal.

Natasha was about rise from her seat, but Clint stopped her.

"I'll get him."

She nodded and relaxed again. Clint stood and placed his mug on the porch beside her. Before he could step away Natasha took his hand in hers, making him look down at her. Their eyes met. She didn't have to say anything. The confidence and trust in her gaze was all Clint needed to know. For an instant his grip tightened around hers, then he let go and went inside the house.

Once she was alone, Natasha looked down. Her eyes happened to fall on Mars' which seem to have been waiting for her eye contact. He gave a single happy swish of the tail. Natasha rolled her eyes, but couldn't help smiling anyway.

Clint arrived some minutes later with Wind in one arm. "He's changed and ready for mama." Clint said as he pushed the screen door open with his free hand. His voice held no indication of what had only minutes ago been on his mind. Wind was with him. How could he be sad?

Wind was still crying, a little angrier now that his dad made him wait through a diaper change. Then he had the nerve to force him into a sweater before taking him outside to his mother.

Wind's downey red hair stood on end. This combined with the footed pajamas he was wearing only served to render his rage very amusing.

"Good morning, little one." Natasha said as Clint passed him down to her. He also handed her the blanket that was draped over his shoulder. Wind calmed slightly, but continued to openly express his frustration to his mom. Natasha kissed his chubby cheeks and he in turn nuzzled against her, still shaking off sleepiness.

Clint picked up his mug and his wife's and returned inside for more coffee.

When he came back Wind was happily and quietly situated under the blanket. Natasha had the most content expression. Clint sat back down beside her, smiling faintly. She was so beautiful like that.

Her left arm cradled Wind against her, but her right hand found Clint's left where it now held the edge of the wooden step. Their fingers entwined. He scooted closer to her, as close as possible. After a few moments his head dipped to lean against her shoulder and neck. Turning her face to him, Natasha kissed his head, then returned her eyes to the sky and the trees. Softly, Clint's fingers tapped into her palm.


	8. Bath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wind is 5-6 months old.

The sun is sinking in the trees, lighting the trunks and leaves a golden color. Its light filters into the kitchen, giving a warm amber hue to everything it touches.

Wind sits in the kitchen sink. His arms flailing happily at the water, splashing it all over his parents. Clint takes it mostly to the face as he's leaned over the counter to the right of his wife, propped up on his elbows. He watches as Nat stands, sleeves rolled up, pouring water from her cupped hands over their baby's smooth skin. She gently rubs soap on him as he ignores her and tries to play with the water despite his mother's interference. His contentment in the bath is deceptive. Five minutes earlier Natasha lathered baby shampoo into his soft hair while Clint used his hand to block soap from getting in Wind's eyes. Then Clint used his other hand to support Wind's neck and back, while leaning the top of his head under the faucet so Natashe could rinse away the shampoo. Through this entire sequence, Wind screamed fiercely. Natasha and Clint had learned quickly to begin with the worst part and then, dry his face and let him splash around for a while and forget his rage. It would then be far easier to dry him, diaper him and get him into PJs. The times they had saved hair washing for the end of bath time were far less pleasant evenings.

"You're so chubby." Clint says to him as if this is a new realization. He then addresses Natasha. "Were you a fat baby?"

"I don't know, Clint." She says patiently, her eyes remaining focused on what she's doing. He knows perfectly well that she couldn't know that. "Were you?" She asks.

"Probably. I was told I had some serious chipmunk cheeks."

Natasha smiles and doesn't ask him who it was that told him this.

Wind lets out another happy sound. He accidently slaps the water a bit too hard and it hits him in the eyes. For a moment he seems to be ok with it, then it dawns on him that his eyes are irritated. Clint almost laughs as Wind's face markedly dissolves into sadness.

"You're ok, buddy." He says, quickly pressing the nearest towel to his son's eyes.

"See? All better!" Clint says. Wind squints at him, testing out his eyes. Everything seems to be in order so he laughs back at his dad. "Good boy!" Clint laughs too.

A second later, Natasha pulls the drain plug from its place and turns the tap on very low. Again, using her hand to cup the clean water, she lightly pours it over her son, rinsing away the soap. As she does this, her husband, unhelpfully, molds Wind's wet hair into one large point. All the while he chuckles to himself.

"Ok." Natasha says, taking a blue towel that was folded on the counter beside her. She passes it over to Clint, who wraps the baby in it, and lifts him into his arms.

"Clean baby!" Clint says in a goofy, deep voice, bowing his head to rub his hair under Wind's chin. Wind laughs heartily and tries to grab at his dad's short hair, but Clint is too fast for him. He turns to Natasha with his wet little bundle in a fluffy blue towel. Half of his grey t-shirt is now a darker shade thanks to all the water.

"Look at this guy!" He says, smiling.

"I see him." She states plainly, but the amusement and affection is clear in her voice.


	9. Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wind is 7-8 months old.

(Nat)

Murder tools. Take apart, tear through, leave behind. Dirty. Blood covered. Lying touches, misleading gestures, darkness. Closed. Not open.

That's what I see.

My palms and fingers open to the dusk. I see all I need to see. The things they did. What they were made to do.

The chickens cluck comfortably around me here in the grass. I'm no threat to them as far as they are concerned. I feed them. Some times I hold them, and sometimes they hear my voice. Yet, at any second I could snap their necks. Why don't I tell them to run?

Clint can tell I'm feeling off. He knows me, better than he knows himself. I suppose opposite is also true. I know it is. His soft steps in the grass told me he was coming out here. I knew he would sooner or later. If he'd wanted to remain unheard, he would have. Just like me, he sits down, cross legged in the grass. Not beside me as he often would, but across from me. His eyes assess my hands and he sees me looking at them, so he takes hold of them.

"Tell me." That's all he says.

"They're so ugly." I can't quite look at him.

Clint lifts my hands momentarily. "These?"

I nod.

"Don't say that again."

Now I look him in the eyes.

"I've watched you too many times using these to bathe Wind and hold him, feed him, to just touch him so he knows you love him." He holds my hands a little tighter now. "You protect me, Nat. Maybe you still don't know it, but it's true. Please don't lie like that anymore. These hands are beautiful."

He called it a lie.

He continues. "You promised you'd never lie to me."

That was a promise never spoken, but a real promise no less. He promised the same. Not with words, but with every moment we've spent together.

 

(Clint)

The air's cool out here. I've got D in my arms. Socks, shoes, pants, sweatshirt, hat. He's good. He keeps pulling at my hair. His obsession with pulling hair is new, and I'm not a fan.

Nat's out there in the grass. Something's got under her skin. I don't know why it did, but I know what it is.

"C'mon, bud." I say to my son and hop off the steps and into the grass. I pull his good old squeaky giraffe from my cargo pocket and hand it to him. He loves the thing. It's his best friend.

It's dusk. The sun is gone, but it's still light enough to see. So, I set Wind in the grass to play. He'll be fine. Eating a little grass won't hurt him. ...I know he's gonna try it.

Taking one more glance at my boy, I turn to where Nat is sitting alone.

.... .... ....

So we sit. She's told me what I already knew. I've told her the same. Now, the little terror approaches. His crawling has improved and over the last few minutes he's made his way from the porch over to mom and dad. There were a few delays; grasping at chickens who remain permanently out of reach, putting more grass in his mouth, spitting it out seconds later, etc.

"You're getting good at that, little man." I tell him as he reaches Nat's knee. He hoists himself over her thigh, but can't quite get further. She laughs a little and picks him up. Once he's situated in her lap, Nat wipes the slobbery grass off of his chin and pulls the remaining green blades from his mouth. He doesn't like that and gives her his opinion. She's not phased. She simply wipes the gross grass on my pant leg.

"Thanks." I say unappreciatively.

"That's payment, for letting him eat grass."

"Didn't hurt him."

"Doesn't hurt you either."

I love her.


	10. Birth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Wind was Born.

A week before Natasha's due date, she and Clint moved back into Stark Tower temporarily. Tony, and the Avengers really, had access to the best doctors and the tower was a safe place. It had been their home and they still considered the others family. This had been the plan all along and, besides, she had been coming to the tower for check ups and the ultrasounds, etc. There was never a chance that Natasha would set foot in a regular hospital or let strangers near her or her baby. That just wasn't going to happen.

There were no signs of labor for that entire week, and it wasn't until well into the next week that the time finally came. The doctors said, and Bruce had confirmed, that waiting was ok. Going a bit beyond her due date was no big deal and there was no need for Natasha to be induced. Besides, she was entirely against being administered drugs of any kind. And Clint had promised her that wouldn't happen. No matter what. During the waiting period, Natasha tried to keep herself occupied. Clint spent a lot of time on the firing range, sparring with Steve, or tormenting Tony. The evenings were regular Avengers down time; Poker, beer, conversations, group dinners. Tony seemed especially happy to have the master assassins back for a spell. Every time he saw Natasha he would nearly trip over himself to assist her with anything and everything. She found it funny, but also annoying. Any complaints she kept to herself though. Stark's generosity needed no thanks, she knew that by now. All he wanted was for it to be accepted, not rejected.

By that point, though, she was used to such behavior. Clint, now that he was among the others was definitely trying to play it cool. However, back at the house, or now whenever the two of them were alone together, he'd slip right back into over-solicitous-husband mode.

Natasha spent time walking the floors of the tower, chatting with Pepper, reading on the roof, and swimming. It felt good to float, especially with how unprecedentedly large she felt... and literally was.

On Thursday morning, roughly 5am, Natasha woke Clint from sleep. They spent the early morning hours playing cards in medical, just waiting, while the others paced around the tower and tried to distract themselves. None of them were above baby excitement. Steve practically turned into a grandma. At least, according to Tony he did. Jarvis was charged with immediately reporting the birth to all inhabitants of Stark Tower. Unbeknownst to Tony, Clint amended this command and told Jarvis not to call them until he or Natasha explicitly said to.

Close to 8 am, while Clint was downing his most recent cup of coffee, Nat's contractions began to come closer and closer together. After that, it was a pretty fast labor. By 9 am a screaming little Barton was being cleaned off while Clint held Natasha's hand, pushing her sweaty hair behind her ears, and telling her she'd done it.

The doctor announced that their baby was a boy.

"He's here, Tasha." He said so only she could hear.

"I hear him." She breathed, a big, tired smile stretching across her face.

Then she met Wind for the very first time.

 

It's silent in the room. Tony, Pepper, Steve, Bruce, Thor, the nurses and doctors, and all the rest have gone away. It's just Clint and Nat now. Clint, Nat, and Wind. A family. The lights of New York City twinkle and shine far below, expanding out for a great distance. Here, high above the madness is a peace that two people thought they never deserved.

Natasha has made space in the bed. Clint is sitting beside her now.

"He trusts me." Clint says quietly. The amazement in his voice can't be hidden. He's gazing down into his arms. His baby son is cradled there, against his chest. Wind is awake, wrapped in a blanket. Natasha has just fed him and now it's Dad's turn to hold him again. His little grayish blue eyes stare up at nothing in particular, but he seems to pick up on his dad's low voice.

"You're his father." Nat says, not to discourage Clint's wonder, just to taste the truth on her tongue one more time.

"I know, I just-" Clint doesn't need to finish the thought. She gets it. They both do.


	11. Afternoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wind is one year old.

Natasha was working the punching bag in the basement when Clint arrived home. The underground level of their house was one large, well equipped training facility. When he was having the house built, Tony begged them to let him surprise them with at least one thing. He promised nothing ostentatious so Natasha, with a bit of encouraging from Clint, reluctantly agreed. They hadn't known what to expect and were very pleasantly surprised. Natasha spent a lot of time down there. Her skills never dulled. Despite the life she'd chosen, she still considered her skills a part of her and she chose to keep them. That, and the quiet fear that one day she would need to defend what was hers and what she belonged to.

The past three days Clint had been gone, training for SHIELD, so she and Wind had plenty of one on one time. SHIELD hadn't stopped asking her whenever they called Clint in. Fury figured it was worth a shot, but Natasha had no interest. None.

Instead she spent mornings taking her little son into the woods with the dogs. He'd hold onto her fingers tightly as he stumbled, but still stubbornly chose to walk, over logs, rocks, twigs, leaves. She would sit in a tree bough and read, glancing up every so often to make sure he wasn't eating the dirt in which he was digging. Wind came home after each excursion into the forest with a new beloved stick. The little pile of Wind's collected kindling on the porch was Clint's first sign of his family when he returned. After parking their jeep on the gravel by the side of the house, he'd scanned the yard, tree line, and porch, eager as always to see them. It was beside the front door that he stopped and smiled at the obvious evidence of his son.

"Nat, I'm back." He said as he hopped down off the last step into the basement.

The little boy had been playing with some large bouncing balls, that Natasha continuously avoided when they bounced or rolled to her feet. This gym had all dangerous items out of reach and a floor covered with random toys. It was the kind of place neither Clint or Nat could ever have imagined would be a part of their lives.

Wind was getting fussy and Clint arrived just in time.

"Hi." she said, stepping back from the punching bag. "Wind." She said. "Daddy's back."

Wind smiled and then started whining indecipherably as he ran over to Clint who picked him right up and sat down on the steps.

"You look tired." Nat said, coming over to them. She crouched down to his level. They kissed briefly.

"I didn't sleep much while I was there." He said as a yawn escaped him.

"How were the recruits?"

"Some good ones. A lot of dumb ones and one too many who were way to eager for violence."

"Sounds standard."

"It was."

"They'll get weeded out."

"Yeah."

"Well, he's falling apart." She said, motioning to Wind. "So if you want to lay down with him while I finish here, he's ready for a nap."

"Absolutely." He said and stood up. "Come on, Smokestack. Let's go."

Wind simply whined and squirmed irritatedly. He knew the word "nap" and was very much against any activity he'd chosen being interrupted. Regardless of being delirious with fatigue, or the fact that once horizontal he would pass out immediately, Wind hated going to take naps. He made this very clear to his dad.

"I know. Life's reeeally difficult. People putting you to bed and putting your shoes on for you. So tough." Nat heard Clint say as he went up the stairs, whining son in arms. She smirked to herself. At the top of the steps she heard Wind voice his favorite word. "No."

"Yes." Clint intoned, his voice fading down the hall a floor above her.

 

An hour later Natasha came upstairs, ready for a shower. As she stepped into the hall she noticed the front door was swinging open.

Clint.

Stepping under the threshold, she noted Arrow asleep a the bottom of the steps in the grass. She did not, however, see Mars anywhere. He'd usually be wherever Arrow was.

She closed the door on the afternoon sun and headed to the bedroom and, as suspected, there she found Mars. He was laying on their big bed along with Clint and Wind. Clint was curled up on his side and, just inside the crescent his body made, their little boy lay on his back, fast asleep. Sandwiching him next to his dad, was Mars. Very comfortable and not asleep. His droopy eyes rose at her entrance into the room. Natasha was not going to kick him out now. It couldn't be done without at least waking up Clint.

His guilty eye contact broke as she took note of the dirty paw marks on the bed.

"You're disgusting, dog." She whispered matter-of-factly. He wasn't one to disagree.

Her gaze then moved to the two boys asleep atop the bedspread. Clint still had his boots on. One hand was tucked under his pillow and the other rested on his son's stomach. Both of Wind's little hands were resting on his dad's, fingers wrapped around Clint's calloused thumb and index finger.

She loved those two and when she looked at them, oblivious to her, to the entire world, a smile spread across her face. It was in secret that her biggest smiles came, when she stepped back and looked at her life. Those were the moments Clint never saw, but that was ok. To Clint, her small smiles, the ones he always got to see up close, were perfect.


	12. Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wind is a new born.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had really been wanting to write one of Clint's early encounters with a diaper. I started writing and this happened.

Clint chuckled at the expressionless baby. His son lay before him in a nest of blankets on the kitchen table.

"You're so weird." He said as his fingers fought with the diaper tabs.

Wind made a little noise with a small burst of breath, testing the strings of his vocal chords.

"Beautiful." Clint affirmed. "You sound like a little accordion. ...Never could make one sound right. But then they gave me a bow and everybody forgot about my humiliating stint as a band hopeful."

Finally the diaper tabs cooperated with his rough finger tips. "Oh my-, What've you done?" Clint exclaimed as he quickly fumbled for some wipes. "You're completely disgusting." He laughed his words, disgusted by the sight in front of him and deeply amused at this little pink person's ability to do such things.

Wind simply made another sweet accordion noise and then it happened.

 

"Tasha, he just peed on me." Clint's half desperate, half amused voice came through the window.

She breathed a sigh. Natasha really didn't care if Clint was swimming in urine at that moment.

Sleep deprivation had come in many forms during her life. Some were innocuous and others she would not recall for anything, but this was something else entirely. She couldn't explain it and it didn't matter. She knew it made Clint weird and it made her fearful. It made them deadly protective and deliriously happy, but it also made Natasha's naps more precious than gold. ...And certainly more important than anything Clint was saying.

Not only did he keep them from rest, their newborn was infinitely more intimidating than any horror or any mission either person had ever faced. Wind, their little baby boy, was utterly helpless, the definition of pathetic. He was the opposite of everything the two of them were, and they would lay down and die for him without question. It made no sense. They'd only just met him. He didn't even do anything. But that didn't matter either. The fact still remained.

"Can he even see?" Clint had asked Nat on their first afternoon in Wind's company.

"Not really." Nat had said.

He was a nearly-blind little dependent, and Natasha would live her whole life over again if it meant he'd be happy. It was insane. Love is completely insane. The one thing that made the least sense made the most sense to her. The Red Room would never recognize her now.

Now laying beneath a blanket on the cushioned bench on their porch, Natasha wanted Clint not to talk to her and just change the diaper. Besides, he was peed on at least twice the day before. Love, what a messy privilege. Right then it was Clint's privilege, so Nat kept her eyes closed.

"Thank you for another update." she voiced in the blankest of tones.

One would never have known this man had fought purple blooded aliens in hand to hand combat with the way he reacted to projectile pee. It was at once horrifying and the coolest thing Clint had ever seen.

"He shot me." Clint marveled in a loud voice through the window again.

"You're ten." She said to nobody.

"I can hear you."

From under the blanket she could not suppress her little smirk.


	13. Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wind is age 1 & 1/2.

On the very edge of the porch stood a bare footed Clint Barton. His torso was bent slightly toward the bright and clear morning sky, his arms taut. The curve of the bow was in his hand, its contour complimenting his perfect posture. As his fingers relaxed on the wire, an arrow shot up into the trees. His eyes alone could see where it hit, and he was pleased.

Late the night before he had returned from another stint training for SHIELD on the carrier. He'd begun very early teaching a one day course for advanced snipers which didn't require him to stay over. Clint knew the class was mostly a formality, a bit of bureaucratic coddling. Long range skill came from endless practice. There was no boot camp and then you were ready. It took years of patiently waiting behind the scope (or in Clint's case, without it). Skills were carefully crafted by time and experience. As a young man, Clint didn't really do anything else. While his relationship with his brother slowly slipped away from him, Clint made a name for himself. Natural talent combined with endless practice created a marksman prodigy. Then, his only family, the only person he could trust, let go of him without a second thought. After that, shooting was all Clint had. He did it out of necessity, to survive, and to fill the massive void inside him. It was his only companion and he got to know it well.

He knew that a day spent in front of a small group of people could never do for their skill what life had done for his.

Briefly Clint had considered taking Wind with him for a visit to the carrier, but he and Nat decided against it. Were Coulson still alive he would have already brought him, but Coulson was gone and he no intention of letting Fury get familiar with his family. (Not over Natasha's dead body. Those were her words not his. At least, they were her implied words.) Familiarity might give Fury the wrong idea. Fury and his schemes were not welcome to their life. He decided and Natasha agreed in the end that they didn't want anybody on the carrier to see their child. He didn't want them to know about their life. He didn't want them to see anything he couldn't afford lose. Even now Clint still feared old grudges, and didn't need his son on the personal radar of anyone in the covert world.

The only people he trusted were Natasha and a small handful living in a skyscraper in New York City. It was for this reason also, that each time he was scheduled to train for SHIELD, Clint made the drive to the city, and at the tower was picked up and flown to the carrier. Fury no doubt knew where he and Natasha lived, but no other agents needed to know or needed to see. Pepper had called it 'maintaining a healthy distance'. She would know a little about that, having spent a 10 year run as a certain person's assistant. In addition to their intense discretion on the matter, Tony Stark had outfitted the property's security. Not only were Natasha and Clint able to monitor their systems and maintain a high level of security on their home if they wished, but any irregularities would immediately alert The Avengers. It was good to have friends. This was another thing that both he and Natasha had taken some years to learn.

Thoughts like this went through his mind as he fired arrow after arrow. This was his element. It had always been his escape, then it was his livelihood. Now, it was another part of his life that brought him happiness.

Nat was out, somewhere about the property, having risen at dawn as she often did. Clint frequently did as well, and the two of them would just spend the silence together drinking coffee before their son rose. They would sit on the porch if it was warm, with a blanket if it was chilly, or in the house on the couch if it was cold. The old days often brought them a ledge or a corner of a room. Back then they'd share coffee, but more often it was just a flask of vodka. But clinging to each other amidst a mad world were days long past.

This morning Clint had slept longer and awoken the same time Wind did. The two boys sat together at the breakfast table wordlessly making faces at each other and laughing as they ate. When they'd finished their food, Clint cleaned his face and hands, dressed him, retrieved his bow and quiver, then set Wind loose outside.

.

One and a half year old Wind went about his business in the grass below where his father stood. He ran from chicken to chicken, dog to dog, chasing them mercilessly and laughing as he did so. Arrow's massive gate allowed him to easily step away from having his hair pulled or being collided with by the small human. Mars was less fortunate. He never made much effort to avoid the child's advances therefore receiving many jabs with sticks, tail pulls, ear pulls, and the warmest of hugs. Mars loved that kid. When he wasn't tormenting his animal friends though, Wind was digging in the dirt, pilling up rocks and sticks, or, standing at the bottom of the steps with the longest stick in his collection. There he would take aim with his pretend bow, imitating his father's stance as best he could. He would do this for minutes at a time, periodically looking back up on the porch behind him. Clint, his eyes still focused forward, would respond to his son's looks.

"The wire tenses." He would say. "Back muscles tighten and lock. Slow your breathing. Exhale. Relax your hand." A perfect shot every time. Then he would look down at his little boy's small form, standing as still as was possible for him, feet apart and his arms outstrected. The long stick would be out in front of him held by both of his hands. Clint would smile. "Good stance, D." Then, Wind would return to his games.

As soon as Wind was old enough, Clint and Natasha would begin teaching him to shoot at least a bow and, of course, he would learn hand to hand. He already showed a lot of physical promise. Among other things, he had been an early walker and climbing out of his crib started happening a lot earlier in his life than was preferred. Fearless and determined, he required a lot of his parent's vigilance. They were constantly pulling him from book shelves, off the porch railing, out of smaller trees he climbed into despite their being no hope of ever getting himself back down again. He wasn't afraid of falling down, though it never agreed with him when it inevitably happened on a daily basis. That said, he would climb anything and try anything to get what he was after. Natasha had caught him on more than occasion in the kitchen, having stacked a stool atop a chair, about to attempt to scale his structure to acquire and prohibited food item. Wind Barton was a full time job in preventative measures.

.

Soon, Natasha was stepping quietly across the grass. She'd been checking on the bees (Being September, there was still time before it would get too cold for them to spare any honey) and tending her garden. In her hand she carried a tin cup from the shed beside the hen house. It was filled with seed for the chickens. Without a word she bent to kiss Wind's head and put the cup in his hands. He eagerly clasped it in his little palms.

With no delicacy of any kind, Wind dumped the cup of seed on the head of the closest chicken to him. Instantly the other four gathered and the five of them, much to Wind's delight, clucked and bobbed, snapping up as much seed as they could as fast as they could.

Natasha smiled imperceptibly at the sight as she sat down on a step. Wind turned to her to tell her excitedly about the chickens eating. "Woah! Woah!" (his number one phrase.) And he laughed. Nat nodded to him. "They're hungry."

"Yeah!" Wind agreed and turned back to watch the chickens.

Clint released another arrow. It imbedded itself in the top most branch of the tallest tree, pinning the smallest of leaves. Later he would go out and gather the arrows. Scanning the now golden trees, climbing, the dogs below him. It made him happy. Wind always came along too. He would strap the boy securely to his back and up into the trees they would go together. When Wind was on his back, Clint accommodated with a hip quiver so his son wouldn't touch the arrows or throw them down to the forest floor.

He took off his quiver and put down the bow, then came down to sit beside his wife.

"Good morning." he said as he offered her a kiss that she accepted without hesitation.

Then, she put her hand in Clint's. His closed around hers.

"Want to spar?" He asked after a brief moment of quiet.

Nat nodded. "I'll change."

.

About 5 feet from where his parents were sparring, Wind planted both his hands in the grass and touched his head to it as well. Not quite able to get his legs into the air, he did his best to repeat what he just saw his mother do to avoid his father's take down.

"Don't look at him." Nat said calmly, as she breathed evenly through every turn and dodge she exchanged with Clint. They matched each other step for step. That is, when Natasha wasn't air born.

"He's imitating you again." Clint said, his breathing equally calm, but his voice held that note of amusement.

"I know. And he'll make you lose again."

There was the sound of soft tumbling into the grass and Clint glanced to Wind who had just rolled onto his back.

In an instant Clint was laying on his own back right beside him. One glance and Nat struck at his weakness. With the greatest ease she undermined his stance and threw him to the ground.

Clint looked up at Nat whose knee was to his chest.

"You're dead." She said simply.

"Wind counts as a handicap." Clint laughed as Natasha settled into a sitting position.

Nat looked over to her son who was pushing himself off the ground. She didn't say it, but Clint of course knew. Natasha loved Wind's attempts to fight like they did. Finally steady on his feet, Wind climbed right over Clint's chest and jumped into Natasha's arms.

"You beat him." She congratulated her son and kissed his soft cheek.

"Daddy!" Wind exclaimed.

"Yes. He lost." Natasha said.

"Don't turn him against me, Nat." Clint complained as he propped himself onto an elbow.

"Say, Daddy lost." she coaxed.

Wind laughed and looked at Clint. "Daddy woah!"

Both Clint and Natasha couldn't help but laugh.

"Yes he did." Nat agreed.


	14. Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wind is 1 & 1/2 when this chapter begins, but some time will pass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one begins shortly after the last chapter. Yay! I made sense for once. ;) Thanks for sticking with this! :D

Nat pulled up in the jeep around 10 am. Through the wind shield she saw Clint leaning on the porch rail waiting for her. She'd driven into town, maybe a twenty five minute drive. It took fifteen minutes if Clint was behind the wheel. Unlike her husband, Nat possessed the patience to drive the speed limit. For a man who could wait hours for a target, or study a conflict from a far up height, he really struggled with a lead foot.

He figured he knew why she'd been up and out without a word, and it was time confirm his suspicions.

"So?" He asked her as she stepped up onto the porch, putting the keys on the railing. She looked out toward the tree line where Wind, accompanied by Mars, was relentlessly hitting sticks on tree trunks. A tiny smile crossed her face.

"So?" She said turning back to Clint. Her face gave nothing away.

"You were puking your guts out yesterday. You never get sick..."

She barely conceded a tiny grin and pulled a box from the plastic bag in her hand.

"Have you taken it?" Clint asked with a mix of excitement and disappointment.

"You know I would wait for you, Clint." She said with a roll of her eyes as she brushed past him and into the house. "Let's find out."

Clint smiled. Of course she'd waited for him. While Natasha was in the bathroom, he remained outside on the porch pacing and taking glances at Wind to make sure he wasn't running off into the woods or doing something dangerous. The feeling of anticipation was so great that he began bouncing on his toes.

When she finally came back out she said nothing and handed the test to Clint. He took it eagerly and examined the answer.

"Positive!" It fell from his hands as he embraced Natasha. She couldn't hold back a little laugh, but the smile quickly faded from her face. She rested her head against his chest while he pressed his face into her hair.

"It'll be ok, Tash. No matter what."

"I don't want to lose another one."

"I know."

She just took a deep breath and tried to hope.

.  
.

Natasha felt, and was beginning to believe, that her Red Room conditioning had finally caught up to her new life. It was now April. Wind had just turned two in March. Since September Natasha had suffered two miscarriages. True to form, she faced them boldly. At that point, figuring Wind might have been their one chance for children, she and Clint wanted to be grateful for their son. They tried their hardest not to focus on the loss. Still, it broke Natasha's heart and it broke Clint's. They had seen rough winters together before. This was the hardest. The old thoughts of being nothing but black inside, a place for life to die, returned to Natasha's mind. She fought them. She held her son, laughed with him, tried to see what she had.

The second time had most certainly been more devastating for both parents, though each loss hurt them intensely. After the first baby didn't make it, Nat spent more time that usual just watching Wind play and holding him in his quiet moments. Clint had returned from a week stuck on the helicarrier only to be greeted by Natasha's subdued fears. She was cramping. He tried to assure her, but he felt the same fear she did. By the time the next morning dawned, her pregnancy was officially over. For nearly a week she didn't want to talk to Clint, didn't want to spar, or sit in silence with him, and it burned him. He knew she felt ashamed and that was the worst part. There was nothing for her to be ashamed of. So they spent one too many days speaking sparsely. He needed her, and giving her the space she required was torture for him, but soon enough Nat came back to his arms and they grieved together.

It was the night Clint finally cried, a little after losing the second baby, that she really broke inside. He'd been resolved to stay strong for her, but he failed. No tears escaped her eyes but, his pain, while it held no accusation, no disappointment toward her, brought her so low. She, like him, also wanted more crying, laughing, fierce little people her life. She wanted to teach them and love them like she did Wind. She wanted to see more soft little hands clasped in Clint's rough, calloused fingers. She wanted again to know that her body was good for something other than ending things. Beginnings were what she lived for now.

The following morning the pair were quiet, each of them speaking more to Wind than to each other. After breakfast Clint bundled up his son and they went tramping into the snow covered woods with the dogs while Nat attacked a punching bag downstairs. Later she put Wind down for a nap while Clint fired arrows into faraway targets he had fixed into the bare trees. His nearly frozen fingers continued to stubbornly pull back on the wire over and over again. When she came outside, wrapped in her big black coat, he was waiting for her.

"I'm sorry." He said, perched on the porch rail, boots hanging below him, hands now dug into the pockets of his own coat.

"No. I am." The cold air revealed her breath as she spoke.

"You're not allowed to be sorry." Clint said.

"Don't tell me what I can be." Her tone threatened, but Clint had never been afraid of her.

"I just did."

"Shut up, Barton." And with that she walked back into the house. He immediately hopped down from his seat and followed her.

"Talk to me, Nat."

"What would you like to hear?" She said with a sharp edge in her voice as she pulled off her coat.

He took her arm and turned her back toward him. She pushed him away, but he came right back. She knew him well enough to bother with shoving him away again. He stuck with her. Always.

"Can you forgive me?" He asked her.

"For what?" The edge in her voice suddenly softened.

His face looked confused. "...For last night."

"For being sad? You're kidding?"

"No. I made you think it was your fault."

"It is my fault. You're feelings don't affect that."

"Dammit, Natasha!"

"No. You listen. I know what they made me. When you were running around with your big brother, I was snapping necks. Don't you see. It's never going to go away, Clint. Never!" Then she fell silent.

"That's their fault." He nearly whispered.

"My body won't let a child grow." She said, bravely holding eye contact. "It's my fault."

"You never asked for that. ...And you still don't know Wind was our one shot."

"I don't care." She said turning away from him in frustration. "Your head's thick, Clint! I don't want to discuss it."

"Pretending you're responsible doesn't make it better." He said to the back of her red head.

She turned and came at him suddenly. He was ready for her. Clint caught both her fists in his hands and held them tightly. The storm in his eyes absorbed the fire coming from her green stare. She didn't resist, didn't strike with her legs or her head, but instead fell against him. Her fists dropped from his hands as she let him put his arms around her.

"I know it hurts." That's all he could say. That's all there was.

.  
.

So this was the third time since Wind that Natasha and Clint were expecting a baby. They were hoping so hard that this one would make it. When the first trimester had passed, Natasha still didn't let herself hope. Not until she entered her 8th month of pregnancy did she finally let herself consider this child to be a done deal. Needless to say this made the other 7 months something of a strain, a collective holding of breath.

One night, while both were still awake, Natasha spoke quietly into the moonlit room.

"Clint, they never took it away." she said quietly. "I let myself believe they took it from me."

"I know, Tasha." He said. Clint lay on his side, just watching her speak as she lay on her back.

"It was easy with Wind, to take everything as it came, but he made me see what it's like. I want it so much."

Clint's fingers found her palm and they wrapped themselves around it. He knew.

In the glow that filled the room, a tiny glint from her necklace caught Clint's eye. It never failed to make him smile that she still wore that all the time.

"You and I will always have a full quiver." He said as he reached out to run his fingers over the little golden arrow.

"Really? Metaphors?" Her dry tone was unmistakable.

"I liked it." He said with a grin in the glow. The moonlight revealed her little smirk as well. Then he watched as it faded, though the contentment remained.

"Thank you." She said sincerely.

"For what?" He asked.

"Believing when I can't."

"Your welcome." Clint said softly. "Thank you for keeping me afloat."

"I love you." It was that simple.

Clint's hand came to rest atop her very rounded stomach and soon they were both asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, for clarification, Wind is over 2 & 1/2 years old. Barton Baby #2 in on the way! Can you dig it?


	15. Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still working on the next chapter... but father's day happened so I wrote some daddy fluff to hold us over. :D

Two year old Wind was asleep. Natasha, eight months pregnant, was asleep. The dogs were asleep outside, huddled under the porch. There was no moon that night and the snow was still falling quietly. It was the middle of the night and Clint had awoken by chance. For a little while he lay there, just listening to Tasha's breathing and resting his hand on her stomach. His other child was just beneath his palm, and still a mystery to him.

Sleep did not return to him, but he felt so peaceful that it made no difference. However, laying there with most of his family beside him made Clint miss his little boy, so he got up. The room was warm, but not too warm. Still, it didn't change the feel of the cold wood floor under his bare feet. He moved across the room in silence so as not to wake Natasha and slipped out the door.

It was not as dark in the hallway. The light from the bathroom remained lit behind a cracked door. They did this for Wind's sake. After gaining confidence on his feet, it didn't take long for him to manage hauling himself over the side of his crib. Once that was mastered, his first destination had been his parent's room. Waking up to their son crying in the dark hallway because he couldn't find his mom and dad's room was not an experience they wanted to repeat. He didn't get out of bed most nights but, in case he did, the way was lit.

The silence in their quiet home was itself muffled by the snow outside. Silence upon silence. This winter had begun so much sweeter than the last, and Clint felt the silence like safe place. Not like last year when the snow-made silence deafened him and suffocated Natasha.

The door to his son's bedroom was open just a little. Clint pushed it the rest of the way and stepped inside. The faint light from the hall made the room dim enough to see in. He went quietly up to the crib and looked down at his boy. Clint bent over against the side rail and rested his cheek against his forearm. With his other hand he reached down to Wind and pushed some of his red hair off his forehead. The kid needed a haircut. Natasha didn't think so though. She liked his hair a little longer and, besides, his last haircut hadn't been a fun endeavor for anyone.

Wind didn't move, but sighed in his sleep. Clint smiled.

He always thought he was happy when he just had Nat, but now he couldn't imagine being happy without Nat and Wind. Soon it would be Nat and Wind and a baby, if it wasn't already that way.

Wind's birth had scared him to death. Natasha had spilled her fears and he had spilled his, but when she had a child in her arms, or under her heart, she was living the proof that her fears were lies. Clint's fears were not cured by physical realities so much as caused by them. Holding Wind in his arms did not kill his thoughts about hurting him, about failing his son. Despite this, when he held him, Clint knew he loved Wind and every moment he spent with him was something he could never have hoped for.

His doubts followed him through Natasha's first pregnancy, though they were shattered with the grip of Wind's tiny hand around his finger. They followed him through the nights where only Natasha could sooth their son, but were overwhelmed the next day as Clint lay on the couch with his baby boy asleep on his chest. Wind's small form rising and falling with each of his father's breaths was a marvel to Clint. Those moments were beautiful. They couldn't have been more perfect, but the trust his son had in him was was scared him. Wind didn't know who his dad was and Clint was afraid he would find out.

Those thoughts had certainly dwindled since those early days of fatherhood. Or, maybe they never dwindled. Maybe everything else just got stronger, bigger, brighter. Clint knew who he was, and that wasn't his foster-father, or a dead man, or a monster.

"I never knew I wanted to be a father." he whispered to the sleeping boy. "I can barely remember my dad, and the next guy was a nightmare..." Clint paused, silently running his fingers through the threads of hair above Wind's forehead. "But it's... a privilege."

He smiled. "You're a privilege."


	16. Close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one starts where the last chapter left off!
> 
> ...And there was much rejoicing.
> 
> Thank you so much to everybody reading and special thanks for reviews! I appreciate them so much!
> 
> :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wind is still 2 & 1/2 and we're still in Natasha's last 2 months of pregnancy.

With the confidence that this baby was indeed coming, came a desire to know the sex. The due date was so near that any fear of losing this baby was gone. And, after everything that had happened, Natasha was ready to be rid of any excess uncertainty. Clint felt similarly and was happy to find out.

Nat contacted Jarvis who made an appointment with one of the doctors that Tony had on staff.

They had planned to find out if the baby was a boy or girl back when they'd gone to the tower for Natasha's 5 month check up. At that time Natasha insisted against anything fancy and did not want to use anything out of the ordinary. She wanted just a regular, normal ultrasound. She didn't want to take any chances, even if they weren't really chances. No 3D, no advanced Stark tech, just normal. Although they had chosen to be surprised with Wind, they had let themselves have all kinds of fun with 3D images and trying to decide who the baby looked like. But, after the trauma of the last two pregnancies, they were overly cautious and afraid of getting too attached to their unborn child. Clint forced down the pain of that decision while Natasha just tried to accept it as necessary.

She also refused to let anybody besides Bruce preform the ultrasound that time, as if having a friend do it made it safer. Nobody questioned her. Clint confided to Bruce about the miscarriages and so he agreed.

"Ok." Bruce had said. "I got it. Are you sure you want to know?"

Clint looked at Nat. She looked at him.

"No." She said unexpectedly.

"Really?" Clint asked.

"I want to wait." She said.

And so they did, and Bruce kept the knowledge to himself.

.

The drive to NYC felt longer than usual. That probably had to do with the fact Wind cried and whined most of the way. Being restrained was not something he was used to, nor did he like it. To make up for this cruelty, his parents let him loose for Steve to chase around as soon as they arrived.

An entire floor of the the tower was a small hospital and it even included a lab or two for Bruce to play with.

Banner met them when they arrived on the medical floor. Clint had invited Bruce to join them and he did. After all, he already knew the answer and, since not too long after Loki's visit to earth, Clint considered Bruce a good friend.

As Natasha lay there waiting for an answer, the doctor worked quietly. Clint sensed her calm and was happy for it, but held her hand anyway. It made him feel better.

"Ok." The doctor said. "Ready to find out?"

They nodded in unison. Bruce chuckled slightly at this. It was such a different response when he had been the one asking that question.

"Ok. Look right there." The doctor said pointing at the screen. "You're having a boy."

Natasha simply laughed while Clint's eyes lit into a smile. He leaned over to kiss her lips. She kissed him back. Public display of affection was not their usual thing, but they were too happy in that moment to stay away from each other.

"I knew it!" Bruce exclaimed suddenly from his corner of the room.

It was a lame joke, but it made Clint laugh.

.

Both Clint and Natasha's first instinct was to retreat back to their home and celebrate the news in the intimacy of their little family. Tony, especially, tried to get them to stick around, have dinner, spend the night, but they declined. Besides, Clint reminded him, they would be back soon enough to stay for a little while.

By late afternoon, they had arrived home. When they got out of the car Natasha directed Wind's hands into a pair of mittens while Clint held him in place. They popped a hat on his head, he was handed a banana that would probably end up all over his face, then set free in the brown, wet grass. The last few days had climbed a little in temperature, and first snowfall had only just melted.

Natasha set herself on the porch steps while Clint went inside the house. Arrow and Mars emerged from beneath the porch to greet their returning masters. Arrow in his usual fashion gave a sniff to Natasha and sat down calmly near by. Mars, on the other hand, forced his slobbery snout onto her lap before she could stop him. Most times she pushed his face away before he had the chance, but she was understandably distracted that particular day. The dog then trotted over to see what Wind was up to.

Nat watched her son run around as if he were just emancipated from years of confinement. She spoke small words to him that required no response, but he talked to her anyway. Some of it she understood, some she did not. Clint soon returned to the porch and came down to sit with her. He handed her a lime popsicle (her one random pregnancy craving that not even winter could discourage), and opened a can of beer for himself. It was never too cold for beer either.

"Thanks." She said comfortably. Clint briefly tapped his forehead to her shoulder, then leaned in to kiss her cheek. She wrapped his hand in hers, but only after first unwrapping the popsicle. They sat there hand in land, leaning on each other and watching Wind rid himself of excess energy. After Clint's beer was finished and Natasha had placed a bare wooden stick on the porch beside her, they remained there a while until it seemed Wind was thoroughly tired out. That's when Clint rose from his seat and collected his son. Lifting him into his arms, he carried him over to Natasha.

"Give Mommy a kiss goodnight." Clint said holding him so he could reach his mom. Natasha kissed him and he gave her an exaggerated smooch of his own.

"Goodnight." She said softly to him.

"Night, Mama!"

Clint took him inside to give him a warm bath and de-mud him. Nat, who remained outside for a while longer, could soon hear Wind's laughter and their muffled bath time conversation.

When she went in a little later to put the kettle on, she could hear their muffled bed time conversation down the hall. The sun was gone from the windows and the house again took on that familiar, enclosed feeling. The cold night all around the warm home felt safe and comfortable.

Clint arrived in the kitchen around the same time the kettle began to whistle. He went and sat down on the floor, back against the couch, knees bent up against his chest, but relaxed all the same. He watched Natasha's delicate, purposeful motions as she prepared two cups of hot tea. One the way she liked, and the other the way he liked.

Wordlessly she came over to where he was, handed him his mug (Stark's obnoxious "Genius" mug that he'd lost to Clint in a bet), and situated herself on the couch. She sat, leaning against the arm. With one hand she held her mug, while with the other she began to brush her fingers through Clint's hair.

Clint leaned his head back, resting it on the couch to look up at her. He smiled with his eyes.

"He's gonna need a name."

Natasha just nodded.

"It can wait." she said, her face still wearing that contented expression.

"It can." Clint agreed.

He closed his eyes, and just enjoyed the feel of his hair being rhythmically brushed from his forehead.

.

Due to the seven months of worry, neither Natasha nor Clint ever really mentioned the baby or being a big brother to Wind. It was just too difficult. Everything felt so fragile. So, 8 months along, with the knowledge of a second son, and no more room for Wind on Natasha's lap, they started talking about it to him.

Wind quickly came to understood that there was "a baby" in Natasha's tummy (a very foreign concept), and that he should be excited about being a "big brother" (That didn't mean a whole lot either, but he'd sure be excited for it.). Mommy's big tummy meant baby and baby was a good thing. There was no way he could understand what this all would mean until the baby actually came, or how it would affect his life. Regardless, Clint and Natasha had a lot of fun in the last two months of pregnancy "preparing him" for the baby's arrival.

.

The morning after learning they were having another boy, Clint and Natasha stayed in bed when they would have normally risen. Wind hauled himself out of his crib as early as usual and they spent the morning enduring him climbing over them and bouncing all over their bed. Clint was eager to get Wind as excited as possible for a new brother.

"He's not going to understand, Clint." Nat said to him as he was trying to get Wind to say the words "baby brother".

"So? ...D, you're gonna be a big brother to a baby brother!"

Wind laughed and said "A Baby Buddo"

"Good boy! ...Think he'll be J.E.A.L.O.U.S.?" Clint asked Natasha.

Natasha laughed. "He doesn't know what jealous means. You don't have to spell it."

"He'll figure it out retrospectively."

"Then spell away." She conceded.

"I just did. Do you think so?" Clint then caught Wind in mid air before he could land on him painfully. Wind laughed as usual.

Natasha shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not."

"You're so helpful." Clint rolled his eyes.

Natasha thought of Clint and his brother, Barney. Maybe Clint would remember talk of Barney being jealous of him when he was born. However, Barney's harmless jealousy over a baby couldn't compare to the jealousy that eventually allowed him to pull away from his baby brother and eventually cruelly turn on him. No, Natasha wouldn't ask.

She did however ask Wind.

"Will you be jealous of your baby brother?"

Wind looked at her, then looked at Clint. Then he nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! I be dellous!"

"There's your answer." She said.

"Wind. You're a goof." Clint said to his son and picked him up.

"Daddy, you goof!"

Nat nodded in agreement as she leaned over to kiss his cheek.

.

.

With Natasha pregnant there was no sparring, so Clint did the next best thing; he "sparred" with his son. This consisted of Clint on his knees on the mat in their basement gym, while Wind ran around laughing uncontrollably. Clint reached out and grabbed his arms, legs, t- shirt, whatever he could grab, and each time he caught him Wind would be "tickled to death". Stakes were raised when Clint got off his knees and simply chased him around. This activity had already been a common occurrence. The only difference warranting the title was that it now took place in the gym. Hence "sparring". Or, as Wind called it, "Powing".

They were downstairs doing this when Natasha descended the steps. She was tired so she sat on the bottom step. It had never been like her to admit fatigue, but with Clint she would admit most things and, she wasn't normally pregnant.

"D, where's the baby?" Clint would ask whenever Natasha was sitting down, and this occasion was no exception. He couldn't really get enough of watching what his son would do.

Wind always ran over to Natasha and rested his ear against her stomach.

"Aw that's so nice." Clint said, laying it on thick because Natasha would roll her eyes and give him grief for being such a sap.

"Can you give the baby a kiss?"

Wind turned and kissed Nat's stomach this time. She couldn't help but laugh because she loved that, so he did it again. Then, without anyone's prompting Wind looked at her stomach again and said "Hi baby."

To cover the fact that this nearly made her melt, Natasha addressed her husband. "You're turning him into a circus monkey. He'll do anything for an audience."

"What do you think I was?"

"Not because of your charm."

"Hey. The ladies loved me." Clint corrected.

"The 12 year olds?"

"Yes."

"Congratulations."

Clint ignored her good natured sarcasm. "...Wind, tell mommy how pretty she is."

"Mama, Putty!"

Natasha scooped him up and whispered in his ear. Immediately he ran back over to his dad and jumped up and down cheering "Daddy so putty!"

Clint instantly snatched him up and began mercilessly tickling him again. Wind squealed with laughter as Clint said "Daddy's so handsome." Then he paused to look at Wind's face. Wind looked up at him, red faced and smiling. "Daddy so handom!"

"Good boy!" Clint laughed. He put Wind on the floor and just as the boy began to walk away, Clint snatched him up for another round of tickling. Wind dissolved into helpless laughter again.

.

.

Clint had put Wind to bed a couple of hours ago and now he was sitting on the couch. Natasha lay across it, her head in his lap and her eyes closed. Clint smiled at the contented expression on her restful face.

"Wow." He said. "He's having a party in there right now." Clint's hand was moving around Nat's stomach as he felt the infant kick. Natasha's hands joined his. They may have missed out on many pleasant moments of pregnancy for too long, but they were making up for it now. "He's another ball of energy."

"He moves twice as much as Wind did." she corrected, eyes still closed. "I've never been kicked so many times in my life."

"Well," Clint shrugged. "Wind can chase this guy around for us."

"True." Natasha said. "I let Wind feel yesterday. You should've seen him. He couldn't stop laughing every time he felt a kick."

"He laughs about everything."

Natasha just smiled.

.

.

Natasha awoke shivering and sat up quickly. Clint was right there, rubbing her arms, saying her name.

"Take it away."

"It's gone, Tasha. It's gone."

Leaning in, she gripped his biceps, holding onto him to ground herself in reality. "Fire took us. Then they took him!" She breathed.

Clint closed his eyes. Nat's dream had given her harrowing non-childhood to Wind.

"No, Nat. He's down the hall. There's no fire. We're here. You're gone from any file. Nobody knows about our life. Nobody will come for him. They'll never take him."

Natasha shivering faded quickly, but she kept her head tucked under Clint's chin.

"We're safe." Yet, even as he said it he know he could never guarantee it. They both knew that. But, compared to their life before, and compared to what it could have been, it was true. And they would do their best to keep it that way. That was enough, and they could live with enough. The pair of them could make up the difference if it ever came to it. Besides, the amount of Stark tech guarding their lives was a continuous comfort.

None of that, however, mattered in the face of a nightmare. Clint knew that well. In his own dreams Loki had taken Wind from him, Barney had taken Wind from him, and he had murdered his little boy with his own hands. So, he knew.

In other dreams, Natasha had seem her whole family destroyed. She'd seen the hulk take everything she had and crush it in his grasp. She'd watched helplessly as the life she knew was overcome by those who once hired her, once owned her.

They both knew that speaking the truth held no sway over what those terrors did them. The truth had to be made real again. They had to hold it in their hands and get a good look at it. Then, and only then could they rest easy once more.

Natasha got out of bed and left their room. Clint watched. He knew what she needed to do. Moments later she returned with a sleeping 2 year old in her arms. She lay him down between herself and her husband. Wind protested lightly at the disturbance, but settled again almost instantly. Clint fitted Wind's small hand into his palm while his opposite hand reached to spread out over his other son's hiding place. Natasha's hand covered his there. Her gentle fingers that stroked the threads of Wind's hair eventually grew still as peace once again descended on their home. They fell asleep holding what was real.


	17. Proof

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know with this little series of moments I tend to try different things. I just wanted to clarify, just in case it seems to make no sense, that this one is a little progression.

Very few women can say that they enjoy pregnancy physically, though most can say that enjoy it intellectually or emotionally. They understand it's beauty, appreciate it's significance, or they feel the excitement it brings. They get it. That does not, however, make it a fun physical experience all the time.

Natasha Barton can say that she enjoys it for all those reasons, but can also go a bit further. She can say honestly that she enjoys the physical experience of being pregnant. She finds a delight in the discomfort and experiences a feeling of happiness from being sick. Of course, like with any other woman, these things make her feel miserable and she just wants to go to bed, but she's still happy. She's human. She's a mother, and can literally be a home for a baby. Natasha doesn't mind the back pain or getting kicked in the bladder. This isn't because she enjoys pain. No. What she enjoys is knowing that she can give her life for a life. She can feel the red being wiped from her ledger. Every ache and pain reminds her, and she likes to be reminded. It was when she became pregnant with Wind that this became clear. Never one to fear discomfort or pain, she still had not been looking forward to it. But, what she then experienced was nine whole months of being reminded of something good.

Sure, she can get moody, and Clint tries his best to navigate Natasha's odd moods and oft changing needs. It's tricky because before this, Clint had only ever known Natasha to be emotionally steady on a near super human level. Granted, Natasha's "moody" is quite different from the average pregnant woman's "moody". Still, even this time around with a beginning that was filled with fear and worry, she is brighter in a singular way while pregnant. It's an amazing dichotomy of struggle and joy. Just another level of her mystery that Clint has been able to discover and it's only made him love her more. ...Except those moments where she's threatened to kill him.

Natasha knows she's a real, live, human woman. They never took that from her. Every bit of discomfort tells her this. It tells her what she still gets to be despite their efforts to make her a machine. She's not.

The contractions she feels right now prove it. So does each painful breath. Clint's hand clutching hers tightly proves it. A new screaming baby proves it. Blood proves it. Tears prove it. A kiss on her forehead proves it. A baby in her arms that calms immediately at her voice, though she's never met him before, proves it.

The little two year old who can barely pronounce the words "baby brother" proves it.

The man beside her bed holding the infant cradled in one taut arm proves it. The little boy in his other arm whose hands clasp his dad's neck as he's introduced to his little brother for the first time, proves it.

This tiny human, totally dependent on her, proves it. Clint calling him Isaac because it's what she wanted proves it.

Isaac in her arms, and her husband and son leaning in close to see him proves it.


	18. Memory

Beside Natasha's bed, Clint stood with their new little son cradled in his arms. He seemed unable to take his eyes off the brand new child.

Outside in the halls Steve kept the baby's big brother occupied. The sound of Wind's shouts and laughter would fill the room each time he ran past the door. This would be immediately followed by Steve's footfalls as he chased after the boy.

"Barton boy number two." Clint said to nobody in particular as he swayed with the bald bundle in his arms. Natasha just smiled from the bed.

"So what did you two name this one? Snowflake?" Tony asked from his seat against the wall.

"No." Natasha said, leveling a glare at Stark. "We've named him Anthony Edward."

Almost as fast as Tony's eyes began to light up, his face took on a glare as well.

Clint stepped in. "This is Isaac."

"Isaac?" Tony said skeptically.

Bruce, who was also in the room, gauging the look on Natasha's face, took Tony by the arm. "Come on. We'll get details later."

Tony got up, following Bruce's lead, and the two men left the couple in peace.

The details, however, never came. He was Isaac and that's all Clint or Natasha had to say about it.

.

A name for their second child had not been chosen until almost a week before Natasha gave birth. After finally letting themselves be excited about the pregnancy, the couple took some time to see what inspiration might come. That method failed. The times they tried to think up a good name especially didn't work.

"Tasha, we've really gotta name this kid." Clint told her one night as he stood at the sink washing the last of their dinner dishes. Wind had a nasty little cold and had gone to sleep early. Natasha was now stretched across the couch with her eyes closed.

"Sometimes I think it'll come to me once I see him."

"Don't you want to have a name ready?"

"Yes."

"We've barely talked about it."

"Let's talk now." She said plainly.

"Alright." Clint dried his hands on a towel, then came and sat down on the floor beside her. "Do you want to stick with the Captain Planet thing?"

Although unfamiliar with Captain Planet, Natasha had heard it referenced at least once during their super hero days.

"Wind was your idea." She said.

"I know... And I stand by it, but still... it's still a bit Captain Planety. I can admit it."

Natasha looked incredulously at him for a moment.

"Stark?"

Clint smiled sheepishly. "You think I came up with that?"

"No, I did not." Natasha smirked. "...I'm fine with choosing a name like that again, but I'm not attached."

"Ok." Clint said. As his face took on a more thoughtful expression he began to weave his fingers absentmindedly through hers.

After some moments of silence passed, Natasha spoke.

"I've got nothing."

"Neither do I." Clint said. "At least nothing I like."

Natasha decided to go the pragmatic route and just started listing names whether she liked them or not.

"Tony." She said after only a few names, just to be sure Clint was listening.

"Hell no." Clint stated flatly.

She then listed a plethora of russian names that neither she nor Clint cared for. Clint felt around for some good strong sounding english names, but nothing stuck. After venturing as far as they could into spanish, hungarian, and french they came up empty.

"Arrow?" Natasha said. Her eyes were scanning the ceiling and her expression was one of true contentment.

"Dog's name." Clint reminded.

"Right. ...Leaf?"

Clint burst out laughing at the sheer lack of effort. She smiled at his laughter, but said nothing.

"What about Francis?" She then suggested.

"One Francis in this family is enough I think."

Natasha laughed lightly. She opened her mouth as if to speak then closed it. "Nope." She said. "Nothing."

Clint just laughed. "Same. This is getting pathetic."

Natasha's smile soon faded into a thoughtful expression. After a little while she spoke. "Are we capable of loving this one as much as Wind?"

Clint's fingers stopped moving and held hers in a gentle grasp.

"Capable?"

He did not supply an answer, but instead got to his knees. He leaned in to rest his head against her stomach.

"I never knew I was capable of anything good, and now it's all I've got. ...I told you I never learned how to love, but you taught me. Wind taught me, and I know this little guy will teach me all over again."

"...And me?" She asked so openly.

"Like I said, you taught me... Natasha you've already given him your life. You're capable."

She smiled.

.

Clint stepped into the warm house and began to stamp the snow from his boots.

"Isaac." Natasha said.

"Isaac?" He asked as he moved to put newly collected eggs in the fridge.

"For him." She said placing her hands on her very round belly. Natasha was seated at the kitchen table. She'd been reading since Wind had gone down for a nap. An hour before, Clint had left Wind and his wife sitting together in the big chair by the window. She was telling him a story before he had to go to sleep. Clint went out to do chores that Nat normally preferred to do.

He gave a nod as he unzipped his coat. "I like the sound of it, but why Isaac?" He asked, placing his gloves down and shaking snow out of his hair.

"Something my mother said." was all Natasha said.

Immediately, and without a word, Clint came, pulled a chair over to her, and sat down. He took her hands in his.

"She told me it was a name full of laughter." Nat continued.

"You remember her?"

"I can't remember what she looked like, but I remember that she smiled at me." Natasha said quietly.

"Tell me?" Clint asked.

Natasha looked down at her hands where he held them. "I remember a moment when I was with her. I can see a small cross around her neck. Still, I can't see her face."

Natasha closed her eyes as if trying to pry up a memory that wasn't there. It was no use and she opened her eyes again. "She was telling me the story of Abraham and Sarah."

"Who?"

"Abraham. You know."

Clint shook his head.

"From the Bible. Old Testament..." She said, assuming that would clear up his confusion, but it didn't seem to be ringing any bells in his brain.

"Judaism, from the Torah... Big deal in Islam."

This gained no response from Clint other than a sheepish grin. He would've made some snarky comment like "alcoholic dad, orphanage, circus... not much bible training or world religions.", but he wanted to hear what she had to say and kept silent.

"Never mind." Natasha said. "Anyway, in short, Sarah was old and had never been able to have children, but God promised Abraham that he would have countless descendants. Sarah overheard angels tell Abraham that she would have a son. It made her laugh. Their son was called Isaac."

Natasha paused thoughtfully. "My mother must have been Russian Orthodox." She smiled to herself just barely. "I like knowing something. Anything. I don't care how small it is."

Clint smiled.

Besides the one russian lullabye that clung to her memory, Natasha knew nothing of her life before the Red Room. All that she had of it, contained in that simple little song, she gave to Wind. Now she had another piece to give to their new son, to their family.

"How did you remember?" Clint asked.

.

That day was cold and snow was falling. After Clint had gone outside, she sat by the window watching the snow come down with Wind on her lap. She told him stories. Natasha didn't know common fairy tales. The stories she knew were her experiences. She made them good. She filled them with hope and happy endings. Natasha supposed that wasn't dishonest as she looked at her happy ending, her hopeful renewal, who listened as best he could. In these stories, the dark always lost to the light, love conquered, people were never left alone. Only a handful of years before she would never have believed her own words, but now she meant them because she'd lived them. She told him how fighters came out of the dark. And that too was true. She had. Clint had. Tony had. Bruce had. Steve certainly had, and even Thor, in his own way.

The fairy tales she had for her son were tales of The Avengers, good green monsters and flying men. She spoke to him of friendship and trust, power in unity, and never giving up. Wind couldn't fully understand, but none the less absorbed lessons of team work and struggle.

It happened in that moment when she spoke in the quiet, watching the snowflakes through the window. She looked down at her son and all at once her mind filled with memory. Snow, love, her mother's words, a story, and a smile. When she looked at Wind she saw herself, once sitting on her mother's knee, watching snow and listening quietly. Any memory of her mother had been out of her reach all her life. There were times she had tried to reach for them, but those times always ended in fire. So she gave up. Wind gave her a memory. Her heart immediately climbed into her throat as she realized what had happened. Without another thought she pulled Wind tightly to herself and kissed him.

"No, Mommy. Story!" he complained.

"Sorry, little one." She said, taking a breath and smiling. Then she continued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note about Isaac:
> 
> I always hold to the idea that Natasha would be unable to have children due to her upbringing with The Red Room. In my mind it makes total sense, though I think it's way too awful. Obviously I couldn't have written this story if that were the case, so I've been operating in an alternate universe where I don't actually think that. lol ...Anyway, hence the little nod to Sarah, a barren women blessed with a son. I just think Isaac is the coolest sounding name and totally fit because it means "he laughs" or "he will laugh". How awesome is that?! I first chose the name for that reason, then the story for it just came along naturally. I thought that was cool.
> 
> Note about Clint's origins which might not matter to you all:
> 
> I realize that in previous chapters of this story, I've made very brief mention of Clint's childhood before he joined the circus. You may notice that those mentions don't match up with the one in this chapter. That is because I messed up Clint's origins. Instead of Clint's father being an abusive alcoholic, killing himself and his wife in a drunken car crash, then the boys running away from their orphanage to the circus, I've been operating as though Clint's parent's died in a regular car accident, then Clint and his brother running away from an abusive, alcoholic foster father. For that I apologize. I hope you can look past it. It makes no difference to the trauma/transience Clint faced as a kid. The affects in his life remain unchanged. Just know that from now on in this story I won't be confused about that small detail of Clint's childhood if/when I mention them.
> 
> Thanks again, readers!
> 
> :D


	19. Snow

It was a day in late January. The garden was bare, the bees were hidden in their hives, and the chickens monitored the frozen ground. From inside the dark wooden house, a baby's cries could be heard. The family had finally returned home from New York with its newest member. Across the snow, a smallish set of tracks were laid out. They disappeared into the silent woods.

Inside the house Wind was standing on the couch and leaning eagerly over the back of it. "'Zack's kying!" he shouted into the kitchen. The baby was in his bassinet by the window, having just woken up. (Probably because Wind bumped him while trying to get a look at his brother again.) The two year old struggled with the word Isaac and managed only "'Zack." He did not like it when his brother cried. It seemed to worry him and make him alert his parents to the fact as if they couldn't hear it.

"Don't worry, D." Clint assured him. He came over the couch and lifted Wind into his arms. "He cries to tell us he needs something. He can't talk like you can. He has to cry." Wind listened to this explanation as he was carried over to his baby brother. Clint sat down in the chair by the bassinet and put Wind down. Immediately Wind pointed into it. "Baby's kying!" He reiterated just to be sure his dad understood.

Clint picked the infant up and placed him on his shoulder. "D, mom put a bottle in the fridge. Can you go get it?"

Wind nodded enthusiastically and ran out of the room. He liked to be enlisted for any task. However, Clint realized as soon as Wind had gone that he'd still have to warm up the bottle Natasha had prepared. So he got up and followed his son into the kitchen.

Natasha was out in the woods. She had gone to stretch herself and really test her body now that she could once again. Snow covered ground and icy breath were her oldest friends, and to push herself in their company was her ideal workout.

That left the two Barton men on their own to soothe Isaac.

Clint endured a few more moments of escalated baby rage and then finally got his son eating. Much to Clint's surprise, Isaac fell asleep while drinking the bottle. Even more surprising was the fact that he didn't wake up when Clint placed him in back in the baby seat. Clint glanced over at Wind who now sat by the front door, busily building shaky structures with sticks. (Yes, there remained an indoor stick pile as well. Still Wind's number one toy of choice.)

"You never let me do that." He said, but not loud enough to be heard. His son's focus on his task made Clint smile as he said it. As an infant Wind had a torturous habit waking up angry when Clint tried to place him in a baby seat. Just Clint. Not Natasha. Clint always told Natasha that it was like some sick joke. He never quite managed to remember that fact until each time he'd put the baby down and then it was too late. Natasha thought it was funny.

. . . . . . 

Clint sat at the table in silence. Across the room, Isaac lay awake in his bouncy seat just staring up at nothing. Clint remained perfectly still, not wanting to disturb the scene he was witnessing (or remind the baby that Natasha still wasn't back). Wind was crouched down, the way small kids do, with his hands folded together, looking at his little brother. He didn't touch him or talk to him, just looked. Isaac was new. Wind could see he was important from the way his parents took care of him, from the things they said about him. So, he was taking a moment to get another good look at this fascinating stranger.

Clint couldn't help but see Barney and himself. He wondered about the time before it all really went to hell for them, back when Barney tried to help Clint fight off their dad. Had Barney once appreciated him just for himself? Back then was he good enough? Had his big brother once looked at him with wonder like Wind did now?

His thoughts roamed, remembering Barney try to teach him how to jab and dodge. Clint's mind wandered to a familiar place where maybe, maybe if their monster of a father had lived, Barney would still be his brother. If Clint continued to need protection...

He shook it off and focused on his sons again.

Clint would never be that man for them. He would never force them to bond out of fear. His flaws would never kick them into a cruel world before they were ready for it.

Clint looked up. Natasha was standing just inside the hallway where she too was watching her children. Her cheeks shown a bright rose color. Damp red ringlets clung to her forehead and temples. Clint could not suppress a grin. She was gorgeous. Sweat and wet snow or perfume and perfect hair. It didn't matter.

Her eyes met Clint's.

"They won't be helpless," She mouthed in silence.

"No." He gave a single nod. "They won't."

It was an unspoken agreement. They were going to teach their sons everything they knew. Isaac and Wind would be physically capable and mentally sound. Were their sons ever to face the consequences of their parent's past lives, they would not be helpless. And the boys would never know abandonment or isolation that their parents knew as children. Even if Clint and Nat were to be torn from their son's lives, they would still have a family back in New York. Unlike their mother, nobody would ever snatch them up. Unlike their father, they would never be sent off running. More than that, they would be loved. They would begin life whole. Natasha and Clint would give their children what neither of them ever had. Isaac and Wind would not know the quiet desperation their parents knew as children.

Time seemed to slip away and, for Clint, nothing else existed in that moment except watching those three people he would die for. It was as if the moment was without a beginning or an end until Wind lost his balance, tipped forward and jostled the baby. Isaac began to cry. Natasha stepped into the room as Wind turned to alert his dad of the situation.

"He's ok, D." Clint assured the boy as he came and climbed up onto his dad's lap.

Nastasha picked up the baby and began to rock him. She held him up close to herself so that his head was pressed softly against her cheek. She sang low in Russian to him as his sad cries filled the room. After a few minutes of unsuccessful soothing, it was time to feed the angry little round thing (Clint's words). Natasha sat down with him on the couch and soon Isaac was quiet.

"Right where he wanted to be all along." Nat said softly.

"Big baby." Clint said jokingly.

After Isaac had finally nursed himself to sleep he lay in Natasha arms with his head rolled back so his face could be seen. Wind, who had snuggled up close to his mom, began to pet the baby's head. Gently, like he'd been taught.

"'Zack seeping." He said to his mother in a rather loud whisper. She nodded with a small smile.

It wasn't imperative that Isaac remain asleep, so Nat lifted him into sitting position on her lap.

Clint and Wind watched while she burped him. Clint chuckled and Wind giggled at his dad. Clint found burping babies to be a hilarious event. It was just as entertaining with Isaac as it had been with Wind. A drunk looking infant who can't hold his head up, getting jostled by each light smack on his back. Hilarious. Natasha almost never had to burp Wind because Clint had always volunteered to do it.

Isaac gave one surprisingly loud burp and Clint couldn't hold back a laugh. "That's what I'm talking about!"


	20. Fire

The fire that had been roaring earlier, now crackled gently. Its glow was the only light in the room, and the only sound was Wind's soft breathing. He lay asleep on the couch, his head resting against Natasha's side. Her fingers brushed lightly back and forth through his reddish hair while she watched the fading fire. The dim burn made her hair show a deep red. Clint sat beside them in silence, leaning into the arm of the couch. On his knees lay Isaac, awake and looking around, though what he saw was a mystery. Each snap in the hearth flickered in the baby's glassy eyes. Clint gazed at him, just taking in the little person's presence. Like his brother, Isaac was born with no more than a dome of fuzzy hair. It was a light brown color and so far showed no signs of red like Wind's or Natasha's. Clint couldn't help feeling a little pleased.

With only an index finger, Clint skimmed Isaac's fleecy head. It was so soft, just like Wind's had been, that Clint found it irresistible to touch. The contrast was not lost on him either. He was pretty sure that there were few hands as tough and calloused as his, but they felt brand new any time they held one of own infant sons.

The small movement from Clint was enough to pull Natasha's attention away from the firelight. She looked over at her husband and son. Clint's focus was still on Isaac. Clint's marvel was such a quiet joy to her. She didn't know why or how, but each time he lit up at the simple existence of their children, something inside her heart grew.

Nat looked down at Wind. His face was visible in the soft glow and something about it caused a tingling in her memory. It was not enough to hurt though. She felt too much peace, and besides his mouth hanging open as he slept was too endearing.

When she looked up again, Clint had looked her way. She offered him the smallest of smiles. He smiled back, then turned his face toward the dying light.

They remained there for as long as the wood was burning. By the time there was nothing left of the logs except orange and red embers, Clint was carrying Wind to bed while Natasha rose from the couch with Isaac asleep on her shoulder.

The wooden floor was cold under her feet, and creaked as she moved across it. She still felt the warmth from the fire and the comfort of the quiet, as though she carried a small flame through the darkness.


	21. Arrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback! ...I know. I've been so chronological for 7 chapters. Hope I haven't spoiled you. ;)
> 
> In this one, Wind is right around Age 1.
> 
> fluff fluff fluff!

Wind's first word was not 'mommy' or 'daddy'. Unlike most parents, neither of his had ever really encouraged him to say those words. Clint and especially Natasha were still not quite comfortable with their titles. On their own tongues, those words still felt a bit frightening, a bit too foreign, undeserved even. They did use the names, but no so often that their son would make it his first word.

His first word was 'arrow', a word found all around in his daily life. The taller dog, the one who never let Wind catch him, was called Arrow. It was the word for the sticks that his father was always causing to fly through the air. When his father strapped him to his back and took him climbing into trees, arrows were what he tugged out of the bark and collected in a quiver. The pretty golden thing that his mother wore around her neck was also an arrow. She would always let him touch the cool, soft metal, but he was always blocked from pulling it away.

So, one muddy afternoon in late April, Wind stood confidently on the edge of the porch and bellowed "Ahd-oh!"

Clint had been sitting in a chair with his feet propped up on the porch rail. He was waiting on Natasha so they could begin their morning spar. He looked up as soon as Wind said the word. Quickly, he set aside the arrow he'd been replacing the head of, and went to sit on the top step so that he was eye level with his son.

"What'd you say, little man?"

Wind pointed to the lanky wolf hound who was sniffing carefully at some deer tracks that crossed the yard. "Ahd-oh!" He repeated cheerfully.

"Arrow?" Clint clarified. Wind nodded enthusiastically and elaborated further in baby-speak.

"Nat, check it out!" Clint called over his shoulder.

A moment later Natasha stepped out onto the porch as she was putting up her hair. "Check out what?"

"Wind, who is that?" Clint asked his son while pointing to the dog.

Wind looked at his dad, then looked at Natasha. He knew he'd just done something good. "Ahd-oh!" He said with extra emphasis.

"Arrow?" Natasha asked with a smile she couldn't suppress.

Clint held out a hand to Wind. "Good job, bud. First word!" Wind slapped Clint's hand as best he could and laughed. He was happy. His parents were happy. Life was good.

"Go get Arrow." Clint coaxed excitedly. Wind navigated his way down the steps and then he was off running across the wet grass.

. . . . . 

The proud parents sat together on the porch steps after finishing their spar. Wind was now chasing Mars around and laughing gleefully. His pants were dampened up to his knees. Mars leapt back and forth, fully engaged in the game with the child. Arrow lay at a safe distance, watching for any indication that the boy might be headed his way. Some of the chickens had made their way in the direction of the commotion. They too stayed out of range of Wind as their bobbed and pecked in the grass.

Nat was looking at her son, but Clint was looking at her. There was mud on her cheek and some in her hair. Clint's hands were spotted with dried mud as well. He glanced down at their bare feet resting on the wooden slats. They were covered with wet grass and specks of dirt. Clint kind of liked that, and wiggled his toes once.

"He said the dog's name before ours." Nat deadpanned.

Clint chuckled softly. His eyes took a new focus on a little blade of grass that he twisted in his fingertips. "Well we're not so much the mom and dad type are we?"

"A little late for qualifications, don't you think?"

"Guess so." Clint shrugged and tossed aside the blade of grass. "I wanna be." He added after too long of a pause.

Natasha cocked her head to look at him. "Want to be what?"

"The dad type." He said, looking at his hands.

"You are. There's a kid right there."

He didn't quite laugh at her jest. She gently knocked her knee against his. "Tell me."

Clint laughed lightly, but there was sadness in it. Then he sighed. "I don't know."

Natasha turned away. "Wind, come here."

The little guy looked up, breathing hard. He laughed as Mars pushed his nose into his chest.

"Come here." She said, beckoning him kindly. "Dad needs a kiss." Clint looked at her, noting her choice of words. "Then you can keep playing with the dog."

Wind seemed to believe her and came unsteadily over to his mother. 'Kiss' was not a work incompatible with playing. It wasn't like 'sleep', 'dinner', 'night', or 'car seat'. Those words were red flags. He could do 'kiss'.

She picked him up and placed him on Clint's knees. He threw his arms around his dad's neck. Clint just laughed. Inevitably, Wind did too.

"Come on." Clint said, getting to his feet and lifting Wind too. "Let's walk." He stepped down off the porch and set the boy on his feet. Taking his little hand in his, he turned to Nat. "We'll just go for a little."

She nodded comfortably, with a look that told him to do what he would. His eyes told her what he wanted to say, then he and Wind turned and headed for the tree line. Clint gave a whistle for both dogs to follow and they did. Mars trotted ahead, nose to the ground and tail flicking back and forth in the air. Arrow walked along on Clint's opposite side, away from Wind.

Natasha continued to sit, just watching them go hand in hand. She smiled at Wind's many small steps as they attempted to match each of Clint's barefooted strides.


	22. Dirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one begins right where the last one left off. So we're still in flashback mode. No Isaac here.
> 
> This may be a collage of one shots, but the timeline remains true.
> 
> :D
> 
> It's April and Wind is just over 1 year old.

An hour or so later when Clint arrived back at the house, he was carrying his completely asleep one year old on his shoulder. Behind him followed Arrow and Mars who went straight to their water bowls and then made themselves comfortable up on the porch. Going quietly up the wooden steps Clint saw no sign of Natasha, and the jeep was gone from its gravel spot. He gave no thought to where she had gone, only looked forward to her return. Without a sound he carried Wind into the house and down the hallway to his room. As smoothly as possible, and without removing the child from his sleeping position, Clint managed to get the wet, muddy pants and shoes off of him. After that, one sleeve at a time, he removed the boy's coat. Then, he lay his son down in the crib in just his t-shirt and diaper. Clint chuckled a little at the sight of him and covered his legs with a blanket. The boy certainly earned the nap. Clint had let him run himself ragged out in the woods. With energy levels like Wind possessed, it was a worthwhile activity. He had kept his son chasing him from tree to tree for a good long time. Wind could never catch him, but Clint kept jumping out and, every single time, the boy would burst into laughter. When he was finally tired out from running around and his laughter was sounding more and more delirious, they walked. Only a few moments later when Wind finally tired of walking and began to get whiney, Clint carried him. After that, it was minutes before he was out like a light on his dad's shoulder.

Clint closed the door behind him he went to change. Once he was clad comfortably in a grey t-shirt and his favorite black sweats, his next destination was the kitchen. Before he went digging for something to eat though, he filled a tumbler of water and padded back outside to the front porch. Pausing for a moment, he took a breath of the clean, April air.

To the left of the front door, hanging above the porch rail were three baskets where Natasha potted some strawberry plants. Clint stepped over Mars' inert form and went to carefully pour some water over each of the baskets. "Gotta keep you suckers moist." He said aloud. Clint was very invested in the success of the strawberries.

"Yeah. We can do that" Nat had told him, when he'd asked, back in January when they were trying to decide what they would attempt to grow in the coming spring. The previous spring, with Wind new in their lives, they decided to wait until the following year for their first attempts at gardening. In the mean time they did build a coop and buy several chickens like they had originally talked about. Clint also took it upon himself to rescue two dogs from the closest animal shelter. He had felt that more animals were needed in their daily lives. So, that first summer, when he wasn't with his fascinating new son and Natasha, he spent a lot of time training the two dogs. Often times Natasha would sit on the porch, holding her tiny son, and just enjoy the show.

"Then strawberries are a priority." Clint had said, only half joking. Natasha had smiled, amused and excited as well. This was something new for both of them and it was like they were children. Each of them carried the weight of more years than they had lived, but when they talked about digging their own hands into the dirt for the first time, trying to cooperate with the earth, they spoke like kids. Unlike with almost all their previous undertakings, they had no experience. It was brand new to both of them, just like having a child, just like letting go of the lives they knew. Together they kept on choosing things they felt undeserving of, things unknown. They chose to live boldly along side their fears.

. . .

Natasha returned to find Clint perched on the counter top eating a bowl of cereal.

"Hey." He said with his mouth full when she entered the kitchen.

"He's asleep?" She asked, dropping a large plastic grocery bag by the doorway.

"Dead to the world."

Nat nodded, then she placed a nice bottle of red wine on the table. "I got us wine."

"Wine?"

"Yeah. I felt like wine." She shrugged.

"Alright!" He said with a smile and a very approving nod.

"And we were almost out of diapers." This she added with barely a twitch of a smile.

Clint laughed. "Good thing one of us is paying attention."

"You're welcome."

Clint took another bite of cereal. "Still planning on planting those tomato plants today?"

"That's the plan." She nodded. "Basil too, and some others." Then Natasha breathed a sigh that held no sadness in it. "I think I'm going to sleep a little first." She said to him. "That should be good."

He looked at her, then nodded in agreement. "Yeah. Probably would."

She came over to the counter to give him a kiss which he happily returned. "Agent Romanoff, the gardener" he said with a grin as he put his hands on her waist.

"We'll see if anything grows properly." She sounded detached about it, but he knew this decision to grow things was emotional for her. He knew she was judging herself by it and wished that she wouldn't. But, all he could do was hope for the success of what was planted. He said nothing, but briefly touched his forehead to hers. She closed her eyes, taking comfort from the connection, and then pulled away.

He watched her as she left the room. Despite the darkness she still fought inside herself, Clint had never seen her so at peace. She never took naps before. Never. (And he wasn't counting the desperation-naps during Wind's earliest months.) But now, she did the things she wanted and didn't worry about looking weak, or maintaining an image. This was their life and neither one had ever felt safer.

Barely ten minutes passed before Clint felt compelled to join her. When he entered their room, she was curled up atop the covers. He lay down on his stomach beside her. Her eyes remained closed, but he knew she was awake. Clint got as close as possible and just let his eyes take her in.

"How long has it been?" She asked after a little while.

"Since leaving? Or getting married?"

"Leaving."

"Well, we didn't move out here 'til you got pregnant... and we didn't officially leave the team 'til after Wind was born. So one year and nine months give or take... or just a year?" He mumbled softly as he studied the contour of her cheek.

Natasha smiled inwardly at the excess of detail and the lack of an actual answer. "That's what the wine's for." She said.

Clint chuckled a little. "Really?"

"Sure." Her mouth spread to a real smile. "I just decided. We're celebrating."

Clint laughed. He liked those rare occasions when Natasha would act on a whim.

Another round of peaceful silence followed until she spoke again.

"I was thinking about before. If one of us were killed, how it used to be ok. I accepted that I could lose you any time. ...I can't imagine it now."

"I think of it when I wake up." Clint said. "I'm just glad I don't have to live with the possibility anymore."

She smiled again, eyes still closed. She was glad as well.

Clint sighed. "Sorry I'm leaving again." He really didn't feel like going to SHIELD the following morning, but the two of them had decided together that this arrangement with SHIELD was a wise one. Fury had requested him for the next three days and Clint had agreed. Besides, he did enjoy the work when he was there. And, despite the amount each of them had tucked away during their years on the job, and even before, they felt it wise to maintain some semblance of income going into the future. Though, they didn't need much. True to form, Fury had requested Natasha as well, but her response remained the same. Fury still figured it was worth asking. Clint liked that. He liked that her skills were still sought after. There was nobody better than her. Though, he liked it more that she turned them down. When she chose to be, Natasha wasn't hard to get, she was impossible. Clint loved that. In the end, though, he was under no obligation, and SHIELD held nothing over his head or Natasha's.

"Clint," Nat said, eyes on him this time. "It's been almost three months since they last asked you. And you know I don't mind."

"I guess I still owe it to them." He seemed to say this to himself more than her. "SHIELD did save us."

"No." Natasha clarified. "You saved me. Not SHIELD."

"Then I guess I speak for myself," he said, attempting to sound detached.

"Clint."

He looked at her eyes.

"This is your choice. Go or don't go, but you owe them nothing."

He nodded as he looked at the ceiling. "SHIELD used to be my life. That was all I did and you were all I had. But now when I'm there, it's weird. My life is here, not there, and I can't wait to get back to this."

"There's nothing wrong with that, Clint."

"I know, but it feels wrong. ...I know I'm not in their debt, and I still think it's right that I train for them. I enjoy training recruits and it's fun to be considered some kind of legend."

Natasha just barely suppressed a snort at his admission.

"And," he continued "it's fun to mess with Stark and hold off his 'Avengers pension plan' for as long as we can. ...But I miss you when I'm there. I miss that crazy little guy." He gestured toward the hallway.

She allowed the smile due to Tony's 'Avengers' pension plan' fade from her lips before she responded. "It feels strange for me as well."

"Do you miss it?"

She smiled softly and shook her head. "It's just strange... If you were on missions without me, I always doubted anyone who might have your back that wasn't me. I think it's just odd when I'm not doing what you're doing, not where you are."

"Yeah," he agreed. "It is."

Natasha laughed at herself lightly. Not so long ago she would have felt embarrassed by their dependence on such a certainty, the certainty that the other person wasn't going anywhere. But there was no one to be embarrassed in front of. It was just them now and neither one minded. They had chosen together to go all in, and now their lives weren't a gamble. In two short years, they'd grown used to never risking the one thing they relied on. On the job, hoping against that risk would have destroyed them. Now, though, the simple elimination it was a source of happiness neither had ever known before.

Clint's hand found Natasha's and neither spoke again for a time.

"But it's ok, right?" He asked suddenly.

She smiled. "Yes. We seem to be finding normal separations more threatening than actual threats."

"We're more messed up than we thought we were." Clint concluded.

It was true, and it should have felt bad, but it didn't. Clint just groaned jokingly and got closer to her so their their faces touched. "I like that we can do this any time."

"You need to shave." She stately flatly.

"I love you too."

She smiled.

A second later they heard the boy's voice. It was that just-woke-up whine.

Clint shouted so his son could hear. "D, you can climb out!" Nat didn't know why he would bother. They both knew that kid was already halfway out of the crib. In seconds, they could heard his little bare feet patting down the hall. Then, the diaper and t-shirt man appeared in the doorway. Clint laughed when he saw him. His reddish hair was sweat-matted and explosive all at the same time and his eyes were still sleepy.

"Hi, little one." Natasha said. Wind took that as an invitation and came over to the bed. He couldn't quite hoist himself up, so Clint took him by the arm and lifted him the rest of the way. He climbed over his father and landed in the very small space between his parents.

Not fully awake yet, he chose to cuddle close to Natasha. He situated himself so he was comfortable against his mother, but could still see his father. Natasha put an arm around him and held him against her heart.

It amazed Clint to look at his son and see so much of Natasha. The hair, although not as deep a red as hers, was not the only resemblance. Wind had a face just like hers and a carbon copy smile. That was Clint's favorite. When that boy lit up he was all Natasha, yet so much himself. He lay there just looking at them both. Natasha's eyes were closed again. Wind was still sleepy and his eyes were getting heavy again as he snuggled with his mother. He did have Clint's grey-blue eyes. There was that, and the obvious shared personality traits. From the beginning, Natasha could see Clint in the way their son behaved. Most notable was how easily and frequently he would smile, even as an infant. The older he got, the more obvious the similarities became. They had only met him a mere twelve months ago, but it felt as though they had never been without his mischievousness or his bright little spirit. The thought of time before him felt so foreign.

A moment later it was clear that both Wind and Natasha were asleep. Clint really wasn't tired, but remained for a few more minutes just watching them both and listening to their steady breathing. Eventually he carefully eased himself off the bed and left them to their peaceful sleep.

. . .

Around 6:30 the sun was hanging low, promising its inevitable departure. Natasha was kneeling in the cool dirt, working in the light still left to her. Over the past hour or so she had planted most of what she had intended for that day and was just about to finish up and join Clint on the porch. He was up there making dinner. They'd bought a grill the previous summer and in the process of learning and perfecting the art of grilling, he and Natasha ate many charred dinners. Once or twice Natasha simply requested that they just "cook something normally". By late fall, though, there had been definite improvements.

With the sun on its way down Natasha wore a Stark Industries crew neck. (Tony, as a finishing touch on the house that he still considered a gift to his two friends, had stocked the closet in their room with some "souvenirs".) Wind was playing not far from where his mother had her hands in the dirt. She kept an eye on him as he chased chickens and also frequently came over to pilfer soil from the ground around her. He too was wearing a sweater thanks to his dad's insistence, along with the pants and socks and shoes. Natasha had talked him out of making Wind wear a hat as well. He'd be fine and, besides, keeping it on his head would be more trouble than it was worth.

The smallish garden was closest to the tree line. (They planned to build some kind of fence around their aspiring garden to keep out potential free-loading wildlife.) Natasha liked working under the comforting gaze of the woods. The tall trees were imposing, but not to her. To her they were guardians of a home she grew to love more each day.

Far enough away, but not too far, was where they kept the bees. That is, until about a week ago. It had only been one hive, but it hadn't lasted long at their house. A month and a half ago Clint and Nat had put together a wooden hive and Nat drove out to a farm maybe 40 minutes away to pick up their bees. By late March they were carefully monitoring the new bee colony that was getting to work out by the forest's edge. However, barely a month later, the proud parents of an almost-1-year-old were resigned to the fact that a bee hive and a boy named Wind could not coexist. So, they said goodbye to the bees and found a new home for the hive. They figured maybe they would try it again when there was no longer a very small person constantly making an unsteady dash toward the buzzing wooden box.

Natasha eventually got to her feet and wiped her dirt covered hands on her pants. She stepped from the dark soil to the grass, her bare feet taking pleasure in its cool softness. As she headed back across the grass she caught her son's hand in hers. He protested briefly but his rumbling tummy propelled him.

Clint was now seated on the porch steps, a plate of kabobs beside him. The kabobs were nothing fancy, just chicken, mushrooms and red peppers, but that was fancy for Clint.

"Nice." Nat said as she approached.

"Wooden skewers and all." He said, sounding pleased.

As Natasha went inside to wash her hands, Clint began tearing a piece of chicken into small bites for Wind. When he finished, he pulled his son up onto his knee. He held him in place with one hand and with the other he took tiny shreds of chicken from the plate beside him.

When Natasha was seated on the step above Clint, she pulled a mushroom from one of the skewers and popped it into her mouth. She ate in silence and just watched Wind take each piece of food from Clint. Some of them Clint put right into his mouth, and others Wind insisted on taking in his own little fingers. At one point he tried to lunge out of Clint's grasp and grab dinner from the plate by himself.

"It'll be nice when we can eat things we grow." Clint said his eyes concentrating what he was doing.

Natasha chose not to poison the hope with her fear and agreed. "Fresh tomatoes," was her reply.

Clint looked up at her. He smiled with his eyes. "Strawberries." was all he said. Natasha laughed lightly. "Maybe we should send some to Tony." she said. Now it was Clint's turn to laugh. He was familiar with Pepper's allergy to strawberries and Natasha had long ago told him the entire story of her mission to spy on and assess Stark. Granted, that was only because he wouldn't get off the phone with her until he heard the whole story. He was, after all, waiting around and doing nothing in New Mexico at the time.

It was clear that Wind was done eating when he started trying to wriggle out his dad's arm. Clint set him down and he immediately grabbed a stick that lay close to the steps. Then he was off to dig in the grass with it.

Clint took his turn to eat.

"How about that wine?" He said with a mouthful of red pepper.

"He's going to try and get some as soon as he sees it." She said nodding towards their son. "And he will make us spill all of it."

"True." Clint responded, glancing at Wind who was suddenly tearing after poor Arrow who just happened to be walking past.

"When he goes to sleep." Nat said. Her eyes then fell on Mars who sat at the bottom of the steps. His droopy eyes hopefully watched her every move. "It's not going to happen, Dog." She stated matter-of-factly. Clint looked up from his plate and chuckled at the dog's pathetic expression.

"He loves you, Nat."

"He loves this kabob." she said, holding up a wooden skewer. Mars' eyes followed it instinctively.

Clint tossed him a small bit of food and the dog snapped it up eagerly.

Natasha sighed. "And yet, he begs me and not you."

Clint shrugged. "Don't know what to tell ya."

.

Less than an hour later they were sitting silently at the top of the porch steps. In the quiet dark, the only sound was Clint's hand brushing across Arrow's scraggily fur. He lay beside Clint while Mars lay asleep, pressed up against Natasha's back. Only moments before, Wind had fallen asleep on the wooden planks, nestled into Mars' curled up form.

Clint moved to get up. "I'll put him in bed."

As he lifted their son off the floor, Natasha rose as well. "I'll pour some wine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to branch out of my typical sparseness in this chapter. I hope you enjoyed Nat and Clint ACTUALLY using words. ;)
> 
> I LOVE to write these little moments. Many thanks to you, readers! I'm really grateful! :D
> 
> Sorry this took me so long. For some reason getting this chapter written was like pulling teeth for me. But I'm happy with the outcome. I hope you guys are too. :)


	23. Quiet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More flashbacking. Don't worry. We'll jump back ahead to Isaac soon enough. This is just an idea that I've had floating around for a while.
> 
> So Wind is a baby in this one. 4 months old.
> 
> This is a short one. Happy May!

Clint paced the room, holding his wailing son to his shoulder, bouncing as he went. He had already changed his diaper and Natasha had fed him, but he was still crying. It was the worst sound in the world and he'd been doing it for nearly a half hour. "We should get him one of those things." Clint said.

"What things?" Nat asked, trying to hide the exhaustion she was feeling. All she wanted was for Wind to fall back to sleep.

"You know. The little thing you put in his mouth to make him stop crying. There's probably one in the big bag of baby stuff Pepper gave us."

Natasha nodded thoughtfully. "No. If we can't soothe him, then we'll listen to him cry. I don't want to do that."

Clint knew her too well to ask why, so he nodded his agreement. He hadn't considered a pacifier as something she might be adverse to, but he didn't need to ask now.

It wasn't just an innocent idea for her. It was wrapped up in horror and conditioning. A childhood erased before it had barely begun.

Cry and be silenced. She couldn't stomach that concept. Not now, not even in this innocuous context. Clint knew everything because long ago she had told him everything. That is, everything she recalled. Still, that was plenty. She herself had never been a problem, but had seen too many problems "corrected" or done away with entirely.

If their son was upset then he was allowed to be. Clint could get behind that even if it was difficult to listen to. As a boy, his own father had smacked him hard for the times he failed to hold back his tears. He could understand Natasha's thinking. It wasn't the pacifier. A pacifier wasn't a bad thing. They both knew that. It was the ideas it represented for her.

He passed Wind back to Natasha. "Did you want to try nursing him again?"

"Yeah." She said, taking the crying baby from Clint.

It was hot enough to sit outside and she needed the fresh air. Clint followed her out to the porch where they both settled into chairs. Natasha tried again to calm the baby by nursing. He cried for a little while longer but eventually, to their relief, began settle. Clint and Nat sat in silence, as if holding their breath until he began to cry again. But, he didn't. The baby calmed and nursed until he was asleep. His parents listened to the crickets, to the breeze and said nothing to one another. Clint watched Natasha and Natasha watched Wind.

She finally spoke, "He's probably teething."

Clint could hear the peace returned to her voice. "Is it too early?" he asked.

"I don't think so." she said, still looking down at the baby.

"I hope it doesn't hurt him too much."

Clint's words made her look at him. Her smile appeared so faintly. "We'll get him what he needs."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And in case anybody was curious, I don't have a thing against giving baby's pacifiers. lol It just sparked an interesting exploration into Natasha's mindset for me.


	24. Sticks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends! Finally! An update for Total! I'm so sorry it's been almost a whole year! It's been a crazy one and I've wanted to buckle down and get something updated the whole time! Be assured, I have LOT of Total one shots that I've been working on and I can't wait to get them finished so I can share them with you wonderful people! This happened to be the first one out of the gate.
> 
> Ok! Ready! Steady! Go!
> 
> ****Timeline: It's December. Wind will be 4 in March. Isaac will be 1 in January.****

Inside, the house was lit with that peaceful dimness only a snowy day could create. Wind was under the weather with a nasty little cold. Natasha had tucked him into bed and lay Isaac down on top of the covers for his nap too. Both boys fell asleep listening to her voice, singing softly to them. Their eye lids got heavier and Wind was the first asleep. Isaac lay quietly for some time longer, his eyes just looking up at his mother as her voice filled his ears. Eventually, though, his eyes did shut and his breathing evened out. Slowly, careful not to wake them, Natasha stood up. The baby carrier lay on the floor by the door. She retrieved it and set it out on the bed beside Isaac. Her stealth and grace served her very well in these instances of motherhood. She had already dressed him in warm clothes before laying him down, so all he needed now was a the little winter cap which she fitted delicately onto his little skull. Without waking him, she rolled him onto his stomach so that the baby carrier was under him, slipped his arms and legs through the appropriate holes, and secured the snaps. Sitting down on the bed's edge, she leaned all the way back with little effort and slid the shoulder straps over her arms. She lifted her upper half, baby and all, back into sitting position. Isaac was now comfortably snuggled up against her. Silently she left the room, closing the door so Wind could sleep as long as he needed.

In the hall she pulled on her almost knee-height snow boots. They were tough and lightweight, just to her liking. She was wearing a genuine wool sweater with a formfitting base layer beneath it. That was sufficient to keep her core at an appropriate temperature. She placed a pair of neoprene fingerless gloves on her hands and pulled a cap down over her ears. It was a plain bright orange hunter's beanie. Despite the No Trespassing signs that boarded their extensive property or the tech that Stark had put in place, Nat felt that one could never be too cautious during deer season.

She opened the front door to meet the snow fall. Clint was standing on the porch, firing off shots that disappeared into the woods. Natasha did not see his target, but there was no doubt that he could. He was clad in laced up snow boots, his typical black cargos and a purple sleeveless shirt. He still had a lot of purple shirts. Nat always appreciated when he wore one.

The snow was falling lightly but consistently in large fluffy flakes. Beads of water collected on Clint's arms and shoulders where snowflakes had melted as soon as they landed.

She came up close beside him. "Wind's asleep. I'll be back later."

He was mid stance, about to release an arrow, but he stretched his neck just a little anyway and kissed her temple. His fingers relaxed on the wire. Nat followed the arrow's path with her eyes until it was out of sight. Then, Clint pulled away. It was so typical of him that she couldn't help but smile inwardly.

When she stepped down off the porch Clint grinned at the sight of Isaac strapped to her back, bundled up, his knitted cap covering his eyes, totally asleep. As she walked away, her footsteps making no noise in the over-soft snow, she called over her shoulder with an indifferent tone. "Don't shoot us."

Clint smirked.

An arrow sailed past Natasha's ear and imbedded itself in the nearest tree. Nastasha smirked too and gave a dismissive wave behind her.

Inside the forest, the light and fluffy snow blanketed everything, wrapping the world in an untroubled silence. This was something she cherished since as far back as she could recall, the world completely still, asleep. Winter brought her a strange comfort, knowing the Earth remained unchanged as it slumbered under winter's endless white shroud. At least, in Russia it was endless.

She walked along, pressing delicate tracks into the seamless white carpet. This was an oft-traveled path and she soon reached "the playground", as Clint referred to it. There was nothing to set this spot apart from the rest of the landscape except for a certain tree that stood there. It had a thick trunk and a very low, massive branch that bowed close to the ground and then climbed again. It made a perfect place for sitting and reading, or napping, as she had once found Clint. As an inviting place to rest, the area around became the place where Wind very often played when he came out here with his parents. Natasha passed a simple stick fort, only big enough for Wind to fit inside. There were holes dug that were now filling up with snow, dirt walls around rocks piles. There were sticks wedged in branches, stuck in the snow or piled up. A little smile crept onto her face at the work of her little son, and Clint too.

A little further ahead stood a snowman, built the previous day. There was no doubt that it was Clint's handiwork, though signs of their son's involvement lay all around in the form of even more sticks and rocks that had not yet been buried in this latest snowfall.

As far as she could tell, it was a typical snowman. Granted, this was her first real life encounter with one. It didn't include eyes, mouth or nose, but the shape was of the usual sort. At the bottom was the largest snow mound, then a medium size snow-boulder (that seemed the most accurate descriptor) in the middle, and on top a smaller size was set as the head.

However, the sight of it did not make her smile. The snowman possessed two features she felt certain most snowmen did not. The first oddity was the two curved twigs situated on top of it's head, pointed backwards like the horns of a goat. Second, there were arrows. One was stuck in each spot where a pair of eyes could be placed and one directly in the forehead (if a snowman could have a forehead). There was an arrow lodged between the top snow-ball-head and the snow-torso, rendering the innocent snowman, essentially, shot in the neck.

It was dead. That was certain. And Clint had killed it. She had definitely found today's target of choice. Usually his targets were very innocuous, but clearly something was being worked out here. No arrows had sailed in since she crossed the tree line. Maybe Clint felt better already, but more likely he chose not to shoot where she and their son wandered. Clint had no doubts about his aim even with a diminished line of sight that the trees provided, but perhaps instincts were greater than his lifelong enjoyment of shooting, and his charming penchant for showing off.

He knew that she would come across it and hadn't felt the need to explain himself before she did. If there was anything Natasha understood, it was anger over things that could not be undone. Each of them coped in their own way when their own dark pasts eclipsed their new life, or even just the times when their humanity overwhelmed them. She never had to explain herself back when the reality of The Hulk challenged everything she believed about herself, and their sparring became about proving something to herself. He just let her take the anger and confusion out on him. Clint had never truly stopped wishing he had put an arrow in Loki's eye socket. She knew that old rage flared on days after "Reindeer Games" had visited him in a nightmare. Clint always enjoyed Stark's ridiculous monikers for Loki. Natasha assumed they served as a buffer, which was reasonable enough to her. Regardless, Natasha didn't know whether to be amused or reverent about surrogate-snow-Loki.

She hadn't realized that she'd stopped and stood to consider the snowman for a few moments. Refocusing her mind to her quiet winter walk with her sleeping son, she continued down the path. With a little smile as her eyes rose to the falling snow, she knew Clint could surely appreciate the amusement and the reverence.


	25. Fireflies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> June
> 
> Wind 3 yrs old. Isaac 5 months old.

The night was nearly as hot as the day had been. Clint found a perch atop the roof where he sat looking out at the dark wall of trees. In his lap he held his son. Ever since the sun had faded out of sight, they had been watching the fireflies blink in the woods like strobe lights. It was an incredible sight. Unbeknownst to Clint, Natasha was curled up in a chair on the porch below. She held Isaac who had finally dozed off on her shoulder. In the quiet, only interrupted by Clint and Wind's soft conversation and brief bouts of giggling, she too watched the insects turn a dark forest into a flickering miracle.

Eventually, she rose and took the baby inside to lay him down. When she came back out, she called softly up to the boys.

"Time for sleep." It was already a little too late for Wind old to still be awake. If she didn't say something, the two of them might stay up there all night and the result tomorrow would be a 3 year old emotional disaster.

"No mommy." she heard Wind exclaim.

"Yes mommy." she heard Clint correct.

Nonetheless, Wind continued to whine about the injustice as he was passed down to his mother. Clint had already got him into his pajamas and brushed his teeth, so Natasha needed only to appease him with a song. Despite all the complaining, it was relatively easy to get the boy to sleep.

Clint elected to stay up there for a little while longer, so he kissed Wind goodnight before letting him down with Nat. Then he lay down, this time looking up at the stars with his hands under the back of his head. The silence and the beauty lulled him into such a peaceful state that he fell asleep.

After Wind was tucked in, Nat went back out to climb up and sit with Clint. She stopped at the sound of faint snoring and looked up. His boots were peeking out over the lip of the roof. She smiled to herself, left him there and went to bed.

. . .

Clint awoke to warm light on his eyelids. The morning sun was slowly beginning to bake him where he lay, causing sweat to pool beneath his back. Sitting up and stretching, Clint took inventory of his home. He loved this place with its trees and grass. He loved his house that Tony built, those weird chickens, his good dogs, and his old jeep finally freed from a life in storage units. His eyes scanned the open space. There was the hen house by the tree line, and not far from that was the garden. It was surrounded on all sides by a very rustic picket fence. He'd built it himself, with Wind's help of course. It was not white or neatly carved, but instead made of varying sticks and small logs found in the woods. The little gate functioned perfectly, with a little latch system Natasha had fashioned from an old pistol. That amused both of them quite a lot. As imperfect as the fence looked, the whole thing was very sturdy. Within that handmade space, kneeling in the dirt, was Natasha. Wind was beside her, digging and chattering to her. As she worked, Isaac was wrapped, slung across her chest, asleep and content as could be. Clint could see her quiet responses and small smiles as she worked and listened to her son. The garden was a joy to her, as so many things now were. She was able to coooperate with the workings of the earth to enhance her own life and the lives of those she loved. It was such simple reality, but it was hers.

Up on the roof Clint couldn't seem to take his eyes off her. Natasha's physical beauty, and the beauty of the person she was, seemed to leave him paralyzed, just staring. Who she was was more beautiful than anything else. She was so fierce, and so impressive in her bearing in every kind of situation. She carried pain and scars that most people couldn't imagine and was the bravest person he knew. His respect for her had been born the moment her piercing eyes met his. Her composure and dignity in the face of capture and most likely death, struck him deeply. From there it had only grown. It grew and grew until she was the most important thing in his life. Then it grew into love, something incredibly foreign to him. Yes, her outer beauty was a wonderful thing, but it wasn't why he loved her. It was another thing to love about her. He was never really certain at what point he noticed her eyes as stunning or felt attraction, but Clint was certain that when it happened it completed the picture. Everything about her was now beautiful to him at that point and there was no turning back from that.

Before Clint came along, Natasha had always been aware of being beautiful. She had been taught that her beauty was tool of the trade, a weapon like any other, and it had served her very well. As far as she was concerned, it was nothing more than another skill in the set and had no business being involved in honest dealings. She was beautiful. That was never in question, but her alliance with Clint had been her first honest dealing and she never tried to seduce or sway him once. His eyes wouldn't let her. His eyes disarmed her. They were sincere. He'd been the first one to be honest and something about him made her follow suit. That honesty they shared continued through partnership, friendship, and into a very real love.

What he had seen in her made him choose to let her live. Because of it, he allowed her to know him and she allowed herself to be known. To the rest of the world, he was the hawk, up high and out of reach. But to Natasha he became something else. He could match her at hand-to-hand and he wasn't afraid of her. He had her back while on missions and she relied fully on what he could see. They learned they were not only equals, but a flawless team. Then, it was relaxation, having a beer together after a debrief, shooting the breeze. She didn't understand this leisure at first, but came to appreciate it. Their closeness followed after. She learned when he needed to talk and that it was her he needed to talk to. Natasha told him things about her life, things only she knew about. They shared countless small moments that no one else would ever notice. These things lit up the darkness inside her. That was the kind of beauty she wanted to possess. His trust and his respect were her greatest treasures. And she never once coerced, lied, or seduced to obtain them. That was what mattered to her. That made her feel lovable, and love was a concept that did not exist in her world until long after meeting him.

Even after they had become spouses who were more than in love, she struggled to accept physical love as something that could be sincere and real. During her life she had made a farce of it so many times and always as a means to an end. Besides, it had never been Clint's priority. It was the last piece to fit into their relationship. But Natasha did learn to trust what it all meant. Still, her own beauty remained irrelevant to her. To her mind, it was still a tool of coercion and not the reason Clint had respected, trusted and then loved her. Although, he had very positive opinions on the subject, she had no need to be affirmed in such away. While Clint did not shy away from such compliments, he knew well enough what affirmed her wholly and made her feel beautiful was no compliment or attraction on his part, but each little moment of trust and every second they shared as true equals. Clint's love for Natasha, just as her love for him, had been sealed in a fierce trust. The depth of their feelings and devotion toward each other had been forged out of fire and aged to maturity. What they shared physically served to cement in reality what already existed between them. Then, love did what it always does. It grew and brought new realities. Their names were Wind and Isaac.

Clint finally smiled when Natasha noticed him awake and gazing at her from on top of the house. Her mouth twitched, giving away a smile only he would notice. She shook her head at him which only made him smile more. Nat was more than aware of his aptitude for lip reading and took full advantage of the fact.

"I know you see better from a distance, but you're just being creepy now."

Clint laughed out loud.

"I love you too" he called across to her.

She smiled outright this time and went back to her gardening.

Wind had looked up when Clint yelled. "Hi Daddy!" he yelled too.

Clint beamed. "Mornin' buddy!" he called back with a wave. Wind laughed and continued digging beside his mother.

With one fluid motion Clint swung himself down onto the porch. Arrow and Mars were laying there, enjoying the shade. Mars gave a friendly swish of his tail as Clint headed to the front door. "Hi, pup." Clint said, taking a knee to rub his dog's ears.

Before getting to his feet, he took another long look out across the grass. The most beautiful thing he had ever seen was his family, and he cared for them far more than he cared for himself. There wasn't a whole lot he had ever been sure of, but he was sure of that.


	26. Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wind is 3. Isaac is 5 months.

There was no speed limit. However, Bruce did notice a small, plain wooden board nailed to one of the trees along the side of the narrow road. It had a simple hand carved message that read, "Don't Be An Idiot." He chuckled at it and already began to feel as though a weight was lifting off his shoulders. The verbal directions Clint's gave him had been more than accurate and Bruce hadn't had any trouble finding the turn off onto the gravel road that wound through the woods. He drove slow, just taking it all in. It was May. Everything was blossoming and the trees were thickening with bright green foliage. With the windows rolled down he could breathe in the cool air. Bird song of all descriptions filled his ears.

.

The original cast members, as Stark liked to call himself, Bruce, Thor and Cap, were all in need of some r&r. Neither of them had taken a break in a long time, and after a particularly intense series of events, they needed one. Sam, Wanda, Pietro, and the others could certainly hold down the fort while they were away. So, the Starks headed to Florence, a trip they'd been putting off for some years. Tony joked that it was an overdue anniversary celebration of their first kiss and him not dying of palladium poisoning. Jane took Thor on his first visit to Iceland. Steve hadn't felt like anything flashy so he called up Natasha. Spending time with Natasha and family out at the farm would be a nice change of pace. For no reason at all, except perhaps too many years spent around Clint's sense of humor, she did not mention to him that Bruce would be visiting too. Neither he nor Bruce had discussed their plans with each other. It just hadn't come up.

Bruce had already been spending the last few of months really hoping to get away. He just needed a break from New York, from all the avenging. He missed his two old friends and wanted a little peace. He was tired and he sensed painfully the need for a little recalibrating of his relationship with the Hulk. He made a call to Clint, who welcomed him emphatically. Bruce smiled when he'd put the phone down that night. It would be so good to see Clint, Natasha, and the two boys.

Both Rogers and Banner left New York on the same day, still unaware of their shared destination. Steve left earlier in the morning, planning on a solo scenic motorcycle ride along the way. The day was already too gorgeous waste. Bruce drove out mid morning and arrived before him.

.

The drive eventually opened into a clearing and Bruce's eyes fell on the modest sized dark wooden house. When he pulled up to it, he saw Clint standing on the porch, firing arrows into the forest. The baby lay quietly in a bouncy seat beside him, just looking up at his dad's movements. Down in the grass, Natasha was kneeling with a short staff in her hands. Their little boy was with her. He had his own little staff and seemed to be having a blast knocking it against the one his mother held. Bruce smiled at the odd little family.

As he put the car in park beside the house, Clint hung his bow and quiver up on a hook out of reach from his son. "Banner!" He called happily as he walked to one end of the porch and hopped over the rail.

Clint was smiling as he came around to the car. "Welcome, buddy."

"Hey, Clint." Bruce said as he pulled his duffle from the backseat. They shook hands and Clint took his bag from him. Bruce followed him to the front of the house where Natasha rose to greet her friend. "Hi Bruce", she said, offering him a brief hug.

"Good to see you, Natasha. And Thank you guys again, for having me here."

Clint waved off the comment with disapproving expression, but Natasha spoke. "You know you're family to us. We're happy we can share this with you." She gestured to the open space and Bruce looked around. It felt so good to be there.

Wind was still standing at a distance, watching his parents welcome the semi-stranger. Bruce hadn't seen him since Isaac's birth and wasn't sure if he remembered him.

Clint ducked down to pick the child up. He came over with the boy in his arms. "D, this is Uncle Bruce. You remember him?" Wind stared.

Bruce chuckled. "It's alright".

"He'll warm up." Natasha said. "He won't be able to help himself."

Clint laughed. "We don't know how we produced such a friendly child." Then he beckoned, "Come on inside."

Bruce followed him up onto the porch.

"And this is Isaac." Clint said, crouching down by the baby seat.

The baby had an expression so calm and wise that it was almost funny. Bruce crouched down too. "Hi, buddy." He took Isaac's hand and gave it a gentle little shake. "Good to see you again."

"He doesn't say much." Clint said. "It's weird."

Bruce laughed.

When they went in, he was led to the right and into a hallway.

"Wind sleeps down the hall. Isaac's in our room. Bathroom's there, and the these next two rooms are spare. You're in here." Clint pushed open the door to one of the rooms. Bruce stepped in and looked around. It was spartan yet still homey. However, later when he would open up the closet, he would find a very large, very locked container that could not have been holding anything other than weapons. It was somehow nice to know that some things didn't change.

Clint put Bruce's bag on a chair and led him back down the hall. "Cap'll be in the other room." Clint added.

"Cap?" Bruce asked.

"Yeah." Clint said, looking at him. "Steve's coming too."

"Oh." Bruce said.

"Had enough of that guy?" Clint joked.

"No, no. I just didn't know."

"I guess he's taking a scenic route or something, because he said he'd be here a lot later."

"Sounds like him." Bruce said.

"You want some water or something?"

"Sure."

Bruce looked around the living room while Clint went to grab a glass for him. It was warm and not too spacious. Just enough. Clean, but very lived in.

Over by the fire place, a wood pile had thoroughly dwindled through the previous winter. Above the mantle hung a framed sketch that Steve had done for them when they got married. It was a simple picture of two non descript figures sitting in quiet conversation. Bruce remembered Natasha's quiet, but sincere appreciation of the gift. A blanket hung over the back of the couch and signs of a small child's presence were everywhere. Against one of the walls was a book shelf stacked with baby books, parenting books, as well as russian novels, children's books, firearms magazines, cook books, books on carpentry, gardening, beekeeping, almost everything really. Bruce noted a few self help/psych titles about raising children despite a lost childhood, protecting your children from your own past trauma, etc. He couldn't help but look away when he saw these. He knew his friends wouldn't feel intruded upon, that the books were out in the open, a part of their life. Still, he chose to respect their privacy in that small way. He wanted to know of those stuggles only if they chose to share them.

On the table there were crayons strewn about along with blades of grass and a few stones. Beside the papers covered with Wind's scribbles, there were little drawings that were obviously been done by either Clint or Natasha as they had sat there with their son.

Clint came to hand him the glass of water and nodded toward the table. "The little king of sticks and rocks."

"He's so big." Bruce said.

Clint nodded. "If you wanna take a shower, eat, or anything, go for it. It's your home while you're here."

"Thanks, Clint." And he meant it because he knew Clint and Natasha meant it.

"You got it. I'll be outside."

.

Bruce did take a shower and then found a bag of pretzels (something Clint never let his home run out of) to munch on. Then, he headed out to the porch to see what everyone was doing. Natasha was out working in the garden. Isaac was now asleep in the bouncy chair, napping peacefully in the shade of the porch. The sound of little Wind's laughter carried over on the breeze. Just inside the trees, Clint was doing pull up after pull up on a low, firm branch. Wind stood to his dad's feet, clinging to his knees as he went up and down with each movement. Over the past three years, both Natasha and Clint had found unique ways to incorporate their children into their work outs. Bruce laughed and sat down in one of the chairs. He leaned back and allowed himself to just relax. Now, he was on vacation.

.

Natasha looked up from where she knelt in the dirt. She could see Bruce on the porch, just watching the little world around him. She had noted the tiredness in him and was glad he'd come. She'd seen him on the edge of despair before, those times when running away felt like his best option. She'd never been the person to talk him down. That was Clint's and Tony's friendship with Bruce. Nonetheless, she knew. He'd been weighed down lately, that much was obvious to her. Knowing that she lived in a place that offered peace and maybe even a little healing made her happy. She pulled another weed and tossed it aside for composting.

.

The sun was down by the time Steve arrived. Bruce, Clint and Natasha, all seated comfortably on the porch, watched the single headlight from his motorcycle move through the trees. As he parked the bike, Steve did not yet notice his three friends sitting in the dark, just enjoying the night.

When he approached the house with his duffle in one hand, his foot steps sounded comforting in the dark.

"Hey Cap." Clint called from the porch.

"Barton!" Steve sounded very happy, if not a little surprised.

"Come on up. Have a beer."

When he stepped up on the porch, Natasha reached behind her for the outside light switch.

"Hi Nat." Steve leaned down to give her a big hug. "Kids asleep?"

Natasha nodded. "Wind is excited you're coming. Says he can't wait for your to chase him again."

Clint hadn't gotten up yet and Steve's eyes fell on Bruce who was sitting next to him. Bruce smiled sheepishly.

"Can I go on record here, please?" Steve said putting up his hands defensively with a big smile on his face.

"By all means." Bruce said.

Natasha just watched with her usual smirk. Clint was still holding his beer and already chuckling.

"I had no idea Bruce made plans to come here. I called Natasha-"

"I called Clint." Bruce interrupted.

Steve looked at the couple.

"What?" Clint said innocently.

Steve's cell phone chimed.

"It's Stark." Then he read the text aloud. "Run into anybody interesting?" Steve looked up. "He knew too?"

Natasha and Clint just laughed.

"And this goes off... now." Steve emphasized the last word and shut down his phone. Then he heaved an audible, exaggerated sigh.

Bruce chuckled slightly.

Steve dropped his duffle by the rail and sat in a chair by Natasha. She turned the light back off just as the bugs were beginning to gather. Clint pulled a beer from the cooler at his feet and handed it off to Steve.

"Perfect." Steve said, visibly relaxing in his chair. After opening his beer and taking a sip, he looked over at Bruce and then back at Clint. "Don't be an idiot. Really?"

Bruce almost choked on his beer. Clint chuckled.

"You two didn't see what Thor did to that road last time he visited." Nat said.

"We had to replace gravel because the ruts were so deep." Clint added. "That road's not made for quite those levels of testosterone."

Steve laughed. "I love that guy, but I'm still amazed that the state of New York gave him a driver's license."

"Or why he bothered to get one. He can fly." Bruce said.

"He was trying to be 'normal'. You know, blend in a little." Clint offered.

Steve and Bruce looked at each other. That ship had sailed for all of them quite a long time ago.

Natasha snorted a laugh and tried not to spit out the sip she'd just taken.


	27. Birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This takes place on a hot July day.
> 
> Wind is 4. Isaac is 1.

The sun had yet to show itself when Natasha emerged from the house. The wooden slats felt cool under her feet. Her keen eyes scanned the quiet scene. The dogs lay together on the bench, Mars stretched out and Arrow curled up. The former acknowledged Natasha with a lift of his droopy brow, a lazy flick of his long tail, and a sleepy sigh. She took a deep breath and smiled her faint smile. The morning air was heavy and promised a hot day. A little slug and his short trail of slime cut through the dew that coated the railing. Only one or two birds could be heard in the woods. It seemed the rest were still slumbering. Mist hung low all across the clearing and close to the tree line Natasha could make out the silhouettes of a few grazing deer. The morning was perfect. She picked up the egg basket by the door and stepped down off the porch. The soaked grass bathed her bare feet as she walked through the sweet quiet toward the hen house.

.

Each morning she let the hens out, checked their water, collected the eggs and replaced straw bedding when necessary. After laying an egg of two, the girls would spend their day wandering the property aerating and fertilizing in exchange for glorious foraging of whatever delights they could find. They kept the grass so thick and healthy. Clint kept talking about getting a goat, for mowing. Natasha was still mulling that over. The chickens also brought such joy to the two little boys. Wind never grew tired of chasing them around. If he caught one he loved tossing it into the air only to watch it flutter back down and continue about its business as if nothing had happened. Little Isaac on the other hand had been slower to warm up to the feathery neighbors. It took a few introductions before he stopped taking evasive measures whenever they came near him. The final selling point for him was the hens' softness. One afternoon Clint was holding him in his lap as he sat on the steps reading an article Steve had sent him and insisted he read. Natasha brought one of the hens over and sat with them. Isaac eyed the bird warily as Clint gently guided his son's hand over the soft soft feathers on the chicken's neck. The boy liked that and leaned over to press his cheek the bird's back. After that, he was never uncomfortable around them. In interacting with them, he took an opposite approach to his older brother's. He would toddle out into the grass and seemingly mind his own business and the chickens, unalarmed by his presence did not avoid his gentle pats. He never grew tired of touching their soft feathers.

.

Natasha knew there was something wrong before even opening up the coop.

Usually they were already up and their continuous, contented bwaaaw-ing could be heard upon approach. But today, there was nothing. When she opened the door there was silence inside. As her eyes adjusted to the dark inside the small structure, she was able to see the feathers and blood that littered the dirt floor.

All five of her chickens were dead. They had been torn apart. Entrails were strewn about. Whatever did it hadn't eaten much at all.

Natasha walked back to the house and sat down on the porch steps. She sat for a while, waiting for the sun to come over the trees and the chirping of birds to reach full volume. It became a beautiful July morning like always. The only thing missing was the presence of the busy hens. By now they could usually be found about their business all over the property. She felt their absence so acutely and it made her sad. She knew that it was ok to feel like this, to feel at all, but it she did not like it.

Eventually Clint pushed open the front door and came out with a child under one arm and a cup of coffee in his other hand. "Look who's here, bud." Clint said sunnily.

"Hi mommy!"

He put the boy down and sat down in one of the chairs. He swung his leg over the arm, sighed contentedly and took the first sip of his coffee.

Wind ran to Natasha who hugged him, then he hopped down the stairs. He ran out into the grass and looked around. He turned and looked back to his mother with confusion on his little face.

Clint noticed. "Where are the chickens?"

"Go look in the coop," was all she said.

"Something got 'em?" He asked.

She nodded.

Wind took off running toward the chicken shed calling "Wake up, chicknins! Wake up!" He'd been up early with his mother enough times to know the morning routine.

Natasha watched him go. Clint, not sharing her sudden depression, leapt up, hopped the rail and intercepted him.

"I want to wake up the chicknins!" Wind whined.

"Not today, buddy. I'm sorry." Clint whistled for Mars who came trotting over. "Look, D! It's your best friend!" Wind became sufficiently distracted as Clint placed him on the dog's back. He clung to Mars' wrinkly neck and laughed as he started walking. Mars went right back to where Natasha was and plopped himself down in front of her. Wind laughed as he rolled off the dog's back and into the damp grass. Clint grabbed one of Wind's sticks from the porch and a ball and handed them to his son who ran off to play.

"You ok?" Clint asked as he forgot about his coffee and sat down next to Natasha.

"Yeah. ...Thanks for getting him before he saw."

"What's wrong?"

Nat sighed. "I just realized I can't protect him forever. He won't always be this carefree and his life won't always be so beautiful."

"Yeah," Clint agreed. "But it won't ever be like ours were."

She nodded. "I just hate that he can't always be this pure."

"You're a mother."

She laughed a little. "That's crazy."

"Isn't it?" Clint said as he leaned in to kiss her.

He then put his arm around her. "Take him on a walk and I'll deal with the hen house."

"You sure?"

"I grew up on a farm. Remember? Isaac's still asleep anyway." Isaac was a late sleeper and it was a fact not ever taken for granted.

Natasha smiled and rose from the step. "Little one," she called to her son who was now throwing the ball for Mars. "Let's go out in the woods for a while." Wind looked over and then took off running towards the tree line. Natasha laughed and ran after him.

Clint watched them go.

He tossed his cooling coffee in the grass and rose to go clean up the hen house.

.

"It was a weasel." Clint said as Nat came in. He was laying on the couch, eyes on the tablet propped up on his chest. Isaac, now awake, was sitting in the little high chair, wearing nothing but a diaper and seemed to painting himself with a banana rather than actually eating it.

"How do you know?" Nat asked, taking a side glance out the window to be sure Wind was running off into the woods or climbing the side of the house. She left the front door open just to keep an ear out.

"The opening I found in the coop's way too small for a fox or a skunk. Plus, they'll eat a little and then kill extra."

Natasha went over to kiss Isaac on the top of his head. "For sport?" She asked feeling a little disturbed. Her quality time with sadists had thankfully ended long long ago. Still, it had taken a long enough time for her to feel convinced that she herself had never enjoyed killing.

"It seems like it but no. More like an instinct that goes a bit haywire sometimes. Surplus food for later they think they can come back to. So it just looks like senseless carnage to us."

"You buried them?" She asked as she came and sat down on the floor, back against the couch.

"Yeah, some distance back in the woods. Pretty deep. I hosed off the wheel barrow too. Hopefully the smell won't linger for other predators. I'll tie the dogs out there for the next few nights. That should kill any other predator's interest."

She sighed. "What do you call young layers again?"

"Pullets" Clint offered.

"Yeah. You think that farm across the river is still raising hens? They'd probably sell us a few pullets again."

Clint eyed her, sensing the sadness she wanted to make disappear, and put the tablet on the coffee table.

"We can worry about it later." He said kindly.

"Will you tell Wind?" She asked, her way of admitting her emotional state.

"Yeah. I'll explain it to him."

"He'll be alright, Nat." He added gently.

Isaac broke up the somber mood as he voiced his petition to be let down from his breakfast. It wasn't anything intelligible, but the unobtrusive child could be loud when he wanted what he wanted.

A smile appeared on Natasha's face as her attention was diverted from the realities of loss to the little life sitting at the table and covered in banana.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In 2014 when I was working on an awesome pasture based farm, my very first 6 am July morning going out to the chicken shelters in the humid, dewy, mist covered pasture, this is what happened. A weasel had found a way into one of the shelters and torn apart 8 chickens. It was not awesome.


	28. Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timeline: This oneshot directly follows "Friends" (chapter26)
> 
> Takes place in May. Wind is 3 year old. Isaac is 5 months old. Steve and Bruce are both visiting.
> 
> .
> 
> Welcome to the fluff fest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many many thanks to all of you who keep coming back to read about this happy place! I'm so happy you enjoy it. Writing this little world of Clint and Natasha's is such a joy for me and I'm so glad I can share it.

Bruce awoke to chirping birds and quiet voices floating in through the window screen. The mid morning sun bathed his room in perfect contentment. He remained horizontal, head still nestled in the generous pillow, and breathed peacefully. There were smells of honeysuckle, breakfast, and coffee. There was earth and sky and happiness. That last one in particular he couldn't so much smell, but he could hear it outside his room and he could feel it as deep as his bones.

It was the most perfect transition from sleep to consciousness, dream to reality that Bruce had ever had. After basking in that pleasantness, he finally roused himself from bed.

Exiting the bathroom clad in a t-shirt and sweats, Bruce wandered comfortably down the hall. It did not feel like he didn't belong here and that put him so much at ease. Stepping over a few toys and a small pile of twigs, he made his way past the front door that was open, swinging almost imperceptibly in the perfect May morning. Rounding the corner into the kitchen he found the coffee atop the counter was still hot and he poured himself a generous mug. He only ever allowed himself one cup a day, so he chose the biggest one he could find. Blessed coffee in hand, he headed out to the porch.

Natasha was there, seated on the topmost step, her back resting against the pillar, legs stretched out across it. She greeted him with a smile. She too held a mug of steaming coffee between her hands. Baby Isaac was laying on his stomach on a blanket at the bottom of the steps. Natasha was keeping an eye on him as he grabbed at the toys in his reach and experimented with movement. "He can roll himself off of everything." Natasha said as Bruce settled into one of the porch chairs.

"So you're keeping him at the lowest possible elevations?"

"You go it."

Their words faded away as Bruce's attention came to rest on the two men and the child who were now playing out by the tree line. He wasn't sure what they were doing, but Wind was laughing hysterically and running back and forth from Steve, to his father. Hens foraged on the edge of the woods, not far from the ruckus. The highest branches swayed calmly in the breeze. The dogs chased squirrel off from the garden. His gaze circled back to Natasha, seated on the step. She was looking down at the baby, eyes fixed on him, a tiny smile printed on her face.

The two of them sipped their coffee wordlessly for a while, comfortable in each other's company. Bruce closed his eyes and took in the peace. He'd wanted nothing more than this for months. He'd been so tired.

Steve and Clint eventually made their way over. Wind was riding on Steve's shoulders and Mars trotted beside Clint. Arrow stayed behind, dutifully keeping a look out for the offending squirrel.

"Did you get any breakfast, Banner?" Clint asked as he came up the stairs, kissed Natasha, and then hopped up on the porch rail. Steve put Wind down and the boy immediately crouched down to investigate whatever his little brother was doing.

"Not yet."

"Well, there's a bunch of stuff. Sausage, eggs, fruit, bread. Nat and I stocked up for the coming of the metabolism apocalypse."

"Don't look at me," Bruce said, "I only eat like Cap after going green."

Steve smiled sheepishly. "You'll have to cook up some more eggs. I polished off what was in the pan."

"I think I'll be alright." Bruce assured him, with a laugh.

"You guys have any interest in carpentry, construction stuff?" Clint asked.

"Never really gave it a try before," Bruce said "but I'm pretty good with math, so..."

Clint gave him an incredulous look and turned to Steve.

"Not so much as toy boat." Steve said.

"Ok then." Clint sighed. "Well I've been thinking about tackling the attic, maybe making it a livable space for when the boys are older. I've been studying up and I've built a few chairs. Between the three of us, there's maybe 50% competence. You guys wanna see what we can do while you're here?"

"Why not?" Steve nodded.

"I'm in." Bruce said.

"If you destroy this house, I will call Stark in to fix whatever you did."

"Can't let that happen." Clint said. "We'll tread carefully."

Steve nodded in agreement, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

Bruce got up and went inside. They could hear him chuckling lightly all the way to the kitchen.

. . .

After Bruce ate, showered and got dressed he took Isaac from Natasha. She was the baby on her lap and was attempting to read as he grabbed at the book in her hand. She'd fed him and he was showing signs of sleepiness.

"He's all yours," Natasha had said, handing the child over to Bruce. "If he falls asleep, he doesn't usually wake up if you put him down."

"I don't mind holding him." Bruce said.

"Well, if you've got him, then I'm gonna go. We need more straw for the nest boxes. And Clint promised Wind we'd do s'mores tonight. So I need to get chocolate, marshmallows and...something."

"Graham crackers." Bruce offered.

"Right."

"First time for me and the three year old."

"They're good."

"So Clint tells me. ..I'll be back in a couple hours. Got a few other things to do as well and no drive is a short drive out here. Message me if you need anything."

"Thanks, Natasha."

She grabbed what she needed from inside and drove off in the jeep. Bruce watched it disappear down the gravel drive and into the trees.

Steve and Wind had gone off into the woods, followed by the dogs. Clint was up in the attic beginning the nascent stages of his project; clearing spiderwebs, etc. That left Bruce alone on the porch, swaying back and forth with Isaac on his shoulder. The baby was indeed ready for a nap because he rested his head against Bruce almost immediately. Very soon, his breathing became steady and deep. He was asleep and Bruce couldn't help feeling pleased with himself. He sat down in one of the chairs and put his feet up. He closed his eyes and breathed along with the baby. The day was so beautiful and the peace was all encompassing.

Eventually Clint appeared on the porch and joined him in one of the chairs.

For a while they listened to the light breeze and enjoyed the scent of honeysuckle that it carried.

"There's lots of woods out there," Clint said, nodding toward the trees. "You thinking about making things a little greener while you're here?"

"With kids around?"

"You really don't trust him?" Clint asked. "After everything?"

"It's not worth it." was all Bruce said, not looking at him.

Clint couldn't argue that. He could only guess at the demons Bruce still carried around.

"But honestly," Bruce eventually said, making eye contact this time, "he's been so calm since I got here. He doesn't need it. ...I don't need."

Clint nodded. It felt good to hear that and to know he could give that to his friend.

"The little guy seems to like you." Clint smiled, indicating his son passed out on Bruce's shoulder.

"He's quiet." Bruce said.

"Not always." Clint chuckled.

"No... the other guy. He's completely quiet. Like he's sleeping."

"That ever happened before?"

"No."

He looked over because of the note in Bruce's voice. He was looking up at the sky as he patted the softest rhythm on Isaac's back. Clint could see where a tear that had found its way down Bruce's cheek and the smallest hint of a smile on his lips.

. . .

Steve emerged from of the woods carrying a huge bundle of sticks and twigs in his arms. A few seconds later, he was followed by Wind, tramping along, holding onto two branches that dragged behind him.

Bruce was out looking at Natasha's garden and turned to greet the pair. He had put Isaac down in his crib some time ago and the baby was still napping the day away.

"We got kid-ning, Unko Boose." Wind said, showing no signs of the shyness he'd displayed the day before. He had indeed "warmed up" as Natasha had promised.

Steve stifled a big grin. Bruce crouched down to the child's level. "Kindling?"

Wind nodded vigorously. "Yeah!"

"Good job, buddy. We're going to have such a good fire tonight."

"Where should we put these?" Steve asked the boy.

Wind led the way. "Fi-uh pit." he said confidently.

The two men exchanged grins and followed him.

To the opposite side of the house from where the vehicles were parked there was a little scorched area in the grass, a glorified fire pit. Around it were a five adirondack chairs. Clint had mentioned that he'd been trying his hand at some carpentry and the evidence was beside the house. There were piles of saw dust and scrap wood, and work benches, but no power tools, measuring equipment, hammers, or nails in sight. Up against the house, was a large plastic trunk with a lock on it. Weather proof and child proof.

"Barton built all of these?" Steve asked rhetorically, sounding very impressed. "I'd say that's more than 50% competence."

Wind pulled his two branches into the ashy fire ring and then climbed up on one of the chairs. Bruce sat down next to him while Steve set his haul down in the grass.

Behind Wind's chair was a stack of fire wood with a rake leaned up against it, and a pile of bricks. Bruce assumed the latter was intended for encircling the fire pit at some point.

Clint came outside and leaned over the porch rail. "Banner, what'd you say we dust the cobwebs off your Brazilian jiu-jitsu skills?"

"Oh, I don't think so. That's more than just cobwebs."

"I show my jitsu!" Wind exclaimed, standing up suddenly on the chair.

Steve started laughing. "That's low, Barton."

Clint grinned. "You don't want to disappoint him, do you, Banner?"

Bruce rolled his eyes and then turned his attention to the boy. "You wanna spar with me?"

"Yeah!"

"Alright, let's go spar." Bruce said with a chuckle as he lifted himself out of his relaxing chair.

. . .

At dusk, after dinner, Natasha, Bruce and Steve sat on the steps watching Wind chase fireflies in the grass while Clint was getting the fire going. Bruce held Isaac and tried to make the stoic baby smile. So far he'd only elicited a vague smirk. Steve had gone with Natasha to make sure the hens were locked safely in their coop for the night and now they sipped beers and chatted about the goings on in New York. The occasional bat flitted back and forth above them, snapping up as many flying insects as it could. There was no moon that night and stars were appearing one by one. Natasha smiled at the sight of her little son hopping around chasing the glowing bugs, and knocking into Mars who followed his erratic movements too closely.

As crackling of fire soon began to mingle with the night crickets and the dim sky became completely dark, they moved towards the side of the house.

Natasha had no trouble toasting the perfect marshmallow and agreed that s'mores were indeed delicious when she took a bite of her very first one. Clint helped his son roast his first marshmallow. The boy bounced on his toes while encircled in Clint's arms. Both of his hands wrapped tightly around the stick, while his father guided him through the process.

Once he put a s'more together for Wind and had him situated, he set to work preparing his own dessert. Banner traded Natasha the baby for a marshmallow stick and took his turn too. Clint couldn't help noting his poor progress from the other side of the fire.

"Oh come on, Banner!" he groaned as Bruce lost yet another marshmallow to the flames.

"Y'know, I didn't have the most outdoorsy childhood, guys."

"Neither did Cap."

Steve shrugged, keeping his eyes on the almost perfectly golden marshmallow on the end of the stick twirling slowly in his hand. Wind giggled uncontrollably at uncle Bruce's repeat failure. He was now sitting on one of the chairs, his legs out in front of him, feet hanging off the edge, and making a mess of reveling in his s'more. Clint laughed as he brought a flaming marshmallow to his lips and blew out the little fire.

"And you're lighting them on fire!" Bruce protested.

"Yes, but this is on purpose." Clint said and he popped the lump of char into his mouth.

After eating two s'mores of his own, Steve rested easily in his chair. He smiled up at the stars and enjoyed the smell of campfire.

Flames flicked up into the darkness and sent the floating embers disappearing amongst the stars. Eventually all four adults were sitting quietly around the fire, relaxed in their chairs. Wind, covered with sticky marshmallow, was half asleep on Clint's lap. Isaac had fallen asleep in Natasha's arms.

"Ok." Clint, said. "I'm gonna get this guy cleaned off and in bed. Come on, bud." He lifted the three year old onto his shoulder and got up.

Natasha got up too and followed him inside.

Bruce and Steve stayed right where they were, just enjoying the peace. Natasha was the first to return. Clint came out a few moments later, with four beers. He handed one to each of them and sat back down. Arrow got up and came to lean against his legs. Clint rubbed his scraggily ears as the dog rested his head on his lap.

Clint sighed a deep content sigh.

They all felt the same.

The friends got to talking, their voices carrying quietly over the warmth of the fire. After a while, Steve stopped adding logs and they watched it burn down as they spoke together about anything.

Bruce was expounding on his latest project with Stark when Clint rose from his chair. He meandered around until he hovered in front of Natasha. Her hand hung down and her fingers carelessly brushed the wrinkles on Mars' head. Beer can in one hand Clint held out the other to Natasha. She looked at him with an expression unique to her, and took his hand. Once she was up, Clint, still seeming to be listening to Bruce, led her outside the circle of chairs. He kept looking up at the stars and out toward the trees as Bruce, now seeing the odd behavior, began to lose his train of thought.

"Need to be somewhere?" he finally asked with a curious smile.

"Well, we don't often have babysitters."

"We are sitting." Steve agreed.

Bruce chuckled. "You kids have fun."

Clint raised his beer to them and then turned and melted into the shadows with Natasha.

.

They walked through the trees, following the path worn by four years of wanderings.

Despite moving under the cover of darkness, they felt free to speak in normal tones. They were not hiding from anyone. This was their home and such a perfect night was uninhibiting. They laughed and held each other. They acted like the teenagers they'd never had the opportunity to be.

The two fell silent when an owl made its presence known in the forest. They listened, becoming apart of the night. The bird hooted hauntingly, but did not give up it's location. Clint smiled as Natasha leaned against him. She loved the sounds, the night, and him.

When they returned to the house, Steve was still there, just watching the embers glow.

"Bruce in bed?" Clint asked.

"Not sure, but he went in."

There was a momentary awkwardness. Steve felt it acutely and rose from his seat. "Guess that's me."

Clint smiled. "Thanks, Cap.  
"Goodnight, you two."

"Goodnight, Steve." Natasha said.

Steve went in and Natasha turned back toward the fire with Clint. She tucked her head against him. He put his arm around her. They stayed like that until the embers stopped glowing.


End file.
